Dead Man Walking
by BloodRedDemon
Summary: His fight finished, his enemies dead, Harry Potter expects to move on from a life of conflict and pain. Either to the peace of oblivion, or to the embrace of those already fallen to Riddle's army. But fate does not have such a happy ending in store for our protagonist, and he arrives in another world to be found, covered in blood, by a familiar face.
1. Death Comes

**A/N:**

 **A warning first: this story's rated M for a reason. It's not violent for violence's sake (for the most part) or especially graphic (again, for the most part) but I didn't write this to be a nice story through-and-through. If you're easily offended/disgusted (or triggered) you might want to save yourself the trouble and look elsewhere.**

 **I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters you recognise. I make no profit from writing this. These facts remain true throughout this fic, and I will work on the presumption that everyone is aware of these facts from this point out as these are the established operating procedures of this site.**

 **One last thing, when Hogwarts comes into play everyone's two years older but in the same year as before. So, 1st years are 13/14, second years 14/15, third years 15/16, and so on. It shouldn't be too tricky to follow, i just needed the protagonist at a minimum of 16 for the past events to have happened (and Fourth Year is the turning point in the HP universe, in my mind). Plus, if I can avoid a realistic telling of 14y/o schoolchildren, why wouldn't I?**

 **All that being said, I hope you enjoy Dead Man Walking.**

 **:**

Harry Potter's breath came in uncertain gasps, as his knees hit the scorched earth below. The palm of his left hand was pressed against his abdomen, trying to hold in the organs that would surely escape.

He knew the futility of such an attempt. All he was doing was choosing to die from the loss of blood, instead. But his instincts remained. In a fight between logic and panic, there was one sure victor.

Harry wanted to tilt his head. He wanted to see the stars one last time, the one good thing that had come from the war was that they up there for all to see, before his vision faded entirely. But he couldn't; what was wrong with him, he did not know, but he couldn't move. One of the curses he had taken had been the cause, most likely; he didn't believe that his spine had taken any damage, and his concussion was minor, when held relative to the injuries Harry had overcome in the past. The trickle of blood from his temple was thin, and he would probably survive it even if he did not have magic to aid him in recovery.

Of course, the scar would never form.

Harry had trouble discerning the blood of his torso from the warm liquid that was being pumped through the space of his missing fingers. His hand, or what remained of it, was slick and painful. But that pain was fading, along with everything else.

The earth was turning black, as darkness crept into Harry's vision. The earth, previously burning hot, gave no sensation. His foot, lopped off at the ankle, no longer gave him any pain. It gave nothing, in fact, as the numbness crept higher.

Harry struggled to pull in another breath, as his limbs turned cold. He wondered, in his last moments, which spell had killed him. He could not even tell how he was dying, exactly; there were too many things sapping at his life.

He dearly hoped it was not Riddle's. He felt the illness of that even now, as it tried to consume him; had he been able to see it, his blood would have been dark as the night sky above them… above him.

Hopefully one of the lesser Death Eaters got him. Hopefully he or she had felt a moment of wondrous pride as their dark curse struck the _Defiant One_ , or whatever the newest title was that they had dubbed Harry Potter, before they were consumed by agony as Harry reached their master.

Somewhere near Harry, Riddle's head lay still. Several metres from the matching body body, as his blood watered the dead earth. That blood carried a spell born of the conflict Harry had waged on the enemy forces nearly a year before; the last, great sacrifice of the resistance. He had lied to them, but they had seen through his halfhearted deception. Had known that the fight had been impossible to win; the objective had not been to win, it had been to prepare for today. They had gone into the fight knowing they would die in the same way as Harry had never intended to live past this fight; he had known ever since the last of those he loved had died that this was the best chance he had to rid the world of Death Eaters. And he believed that, without them, he had no reason to live on.

What remained of the Mundanes would rebuild, they always did, and Muggle Borns would eventually rebuild the Magical world. It didn't matter, in the grand scheme, that the war had ended this way. Harry knew that.

He wished he wasn't dying, though. Almost as much as he wished he could have achieved this years ago, so that the world wouldn't be so ravaged.

Maybe this wouldn't be it. Maybe he would go to some kind of afterlife; everyone else seemed to believe such a thing existed.

Harry didn't know if he wanted anything more, to be honest. Eternal rest seemed a far more appealing option, to him. An eternity of nothingness, where he would be incapable of thoughts, rather than living forever with all he had done.

The Boy Who Lived felt his grip on consciousness loosen, as the cold spread further. He was dying quickly now; there was nothing to do but accept it, as much as he wanted to crawl back from his grave once again. There was nothing keeping him here, and so the reaper would accept him this time around. He wouldn't get another free pass.

Harry found himself unable to take another breath.

He wished he could see the stars one last time.

Darkness consumed him, and with it came nothingness.

For a time.


	2. Covered in Blood

**I've updated this chapter, because people have rightly pointed out that I didn't need so much detail on his injuries. I wrote that much, because I'd done a (shitty) sketch of them and felt the need to put them in here, as well. Lots of it's gone, now, so hopefully that improves things.**

 ***Another update, because I've received a few complaints about this chapter being unclear: I have to write on the _assumption_ that my readers aren't going to leave as soon as they get confused. This chapter is full of confusing events, the characters are confused, so I'm not going to spell things out.**

June 12th 2003

'Moony!' A pair of voices, both male, called into the darkness. While they would deny it later, the owner of each glanced into the sky with concern, worried that the moon may have been playing with their friend's mind.

'Remus!' Another voice, female, yelled after the man. She was just as concerned as her husband about the change in Lupin.

'Papa!' The last voice wasn't concerned; the owner struggled in her unspeaking mother's grip as she tried to chase her father out into the night. She knew this game. Her mother was silent as she stared after her husband, looking after his purposeful run.

James Potter stared into the woodland outside his family's home. His breath hung in the air in the cold spring night, as the precipitation on the grass spread to his socks, and the Auror glanced back over his shoulder as Remus' heavily pregnant wife came through the doorway with her hands on their youngest daughter's shoulders.

Next, James looked at his own wife. Lily looked as concerned as James felt; Remus, despite his condition, was an exceedingly calm man. For him to look so distressed as he had was worrying. For him to run from the house like that, leaving his pregnant wife and young daughter behind, was worthy of downright panic. Lily glanced James' way, and her eyebrows scrunched up as though asking him what was going on.

The decision to turn back to Remus' flight was not James'. Instead, Sirius made that choice for the both of them. The black haired bachelor had stopped next to James but now, nearly ten seconds later, he strode forwards again. James followed, and each had their wands in hand well before the time they'd covered the few-hundred metres between the house and the woods. As much as they might've wanted to rush into the woods, the high-ranking Aurors had learned their lessons of why not to rush into a situation well over the years. Not least by seeing a dozen of their fellow recruits cut down in their first month on the job.

And, so, neither even called out for their friend again. James suspected that Sirius had made the same connection as him- that Remus must have smelled a pack of werewolves. Neither discriminated against those like Moony, but they'd encountered more instances of violence committed by Werewolves than those where the afflicted wizards were attacked. Only by a few, the hatred against their kind was great, but the data was true nonetheless.

'JAMES!' A man's voice, strained, called from deeper in the woodland.

The Potter Patriarch hesitated, but Sirius didn't. All thoughts of stealth went out the window for Padfoot as soon as he heard his friend in what he thought was pain.

'MOONY!' Sirius' wand was alight with a _Lumos_ as he bound forwards; he knew the woods almost as well as James, and had no trouble avoiding the trees and brambles as he ran in Remus' direction with James only seconds behind.

But, still, Sirius reached Remus first. That meant he saw the young man in Remus' arms first, and that his words were the first warning that James received of what he was about to see.

'Holy _shit_ …' Sirius stopped suddenly, and James barely avoided crashing into his friend's back.

'Oh, _fuck…'_ James echoed the sentiment as he saw the figure, colourless skin smeared with blood and a limb missing, in Remus' arms.

'We need to get him to St Mungos,' Remus said, unnecessarily. But it snapped both of the wizards out of their shocked states, and they quickly got to it. Each grabbed one of Remus' shoulders and laid a hand on the nearly dead man, and James felt confident that the others were as glad that they'd learned tandem apparating as him. They spun as a unit, and the world before their eyes changed from the woodland to a clean white hospital ward.

The first response they received was a teenager screaming, and James didn't know whether it was because of their sudden appearance or the sheer volume of blood. James ignored her, as a Healer tore down the hallway, saw them, and got to work without so much as a question for the men carrying what might as well have been a corpse. Remus laid the young man on a summoned stretcher that floated in the air before him, and the middle aged Healer's wand was out and tracing intricate patterns in a moment.

The girl's scream had attracted the attention of three other Healers in nearby corridors, and they joined their fellow in helping the bloody young man with haste that was encouraging. One of them cast a quick charm to obscure the views of those around, and James supposed it was to preserve the young man's modesty; he had been naked, and in a corridor that would quickly become crowded that could be embarrassing somewhere down the line.

James glanced at Moony, and winced. Not at his friend's horrified expression, as though he had seen the devil, but at the fact that his front was stained red.

He didn't know if the injured man could survive, even here. The Potter Patriarch took a deep breath, and slipped on the Auror persona that was needed in this moment.

'Sirius, we need to get to work.'

Sirius nodded, as he raised his wand. A silver, wispy Grim sprang forth and rushed off the deliver the message to the Aurors office that they had a crime. A violent crime, at that.

The two Aurors left their friend there, after a brief retelling of finding the bloody man only a little ways from where they'd reunited, and returned to the Potter home. They needed to find out what had happened, and there was no chance of the young man waking up soon, if he ever did. That meant their best bet was to look at the area in which he had been found. Hopefully, there would be a clue on the scene. If not, he would likely have been dumped there after Apparation; Sirius had already called those to the scene that could track the signature, so the job should still be easy. And James knew well that the more bloody and spectacular the scene was, the easier it was to track down.

But, first, he needed to let Lily and Alex know that they and Remus were fine. Hopefully Moony would think to clean up before he returned home… and to actually return home.

He'd probably stay all night, though; Remus would relate to the struggles of a young Werewolf- Remus wouldn't have reacted this way, unless the young man was afflicted by his curse- and know that the boy would be alone if he didn't stay. It was a matter of principle, and Remus had to do right, especially to those who shared his condition.

By the time James reached the scene, Sirius was in full-swing as he dispatched recruits to the most usual locations for violent crimes, in pairs, without breaking stride.

Even so, James had a feeling that it would be a long night.

-()-

James ran a hand over his face as he stared at the twisted reflection of himself as a teenager.

The resemblance was there. James wasn't denying that at all, even if he was shocked by it; the boy looked more like James than any of his actual kids- James was thankful for that. He knew from experience that his face made an ugly girl- What he was finding _difficult_ to understand were the differences.

The _boy_ barely looked human, now that they'd cleaned him of blood. James stared at the face, as he struggled to comprehend the chunks that were not made of flesh. It was most shocking there, because… _because_. For a face to have lines and hunks of metal welded to it to replace the flesh was… horrible. It looked even more shocking than Mad-Eye, the fourth man in the room.

James counted four injuries, on his face alone, that would have been life-threatening. He knew that much from his time as an Auror, and could see that one had done more than leave scars. Around the boy's left eye, there were veins of something other than the silver that ran across the rest of his face. Blue veins stretched away from the lid, yet Moody was the only one who'd been interested in the cause. He didn't seem bothered by the injuries, but, then, he had to see himself in the mirror every day.

The young female Healer that was still in the room had clearly been afraid of the mangled Auror and had given him the answer the second the question passed by Mad-Eye's lips. She had been staring at Moody's magical eye as she told them about the long metal wound running down the left side of his face, and, in a fearful voice, that the infused magic wasn't something she'd seen before but that it seemed to be a way of repairing the injury and giving the eye magical properties. She said it was probably dangerous and painful, and that she couldn't imagine why someone would do it to a child. Then, Moody had growled something to himself and she had squeaked and backed away and stayed on the opposite side of the boy's bed to the retired Auror since, whenever she had been in the room.

Moody had, without asking permission, lifted the boy's lid. As he looked over Moody's shoulder, James had ignored the feeble protests of the Healer in favour of making sure he got to see before Sirius shouldered him aside.

The result of whatever had been done to the sleeping boy was slightly more subtle than Moody's magical eye. Not that it was actually subtle, just more so than a giant electric-blue orb sat next to a brown human eye. From emerald irises, blue veins branched out into the whites and onto the skin beyond; the best James could think to describe the actual eye was as though it was bloodshot, only with blue instead of red. It was the difference of the boy that was least likely to inspire a double-take, to James.

More striking than the eye, though was the lower half of his face. Virtually all of his left jaw, extending to the earlobe of his corresponding ear, was gone. Replaced by silver that, even now, was reflecting the artificial light of the hospital room. Under that, there was another scar, running horizontally across his throat.

James couldn't imagine what had happened to the kid, or why someone would do this to him. It hardly felt right calling him a child. He'd gone through more than James, Sirius, or virtually anyone he knew. All James could hope was that he had not been through more than Moody or Remus… and he doubted that his hope would come true for the latter. For Remus to have smelled him from so far away meant he'd smelled the blood of a fellow werewolf.

James heard a noise not unlike a startled kitten, and glanced over at the Healer, who had lifted the sheets to check on something.

'What is it, girl?' Mad-Eye growled a question, and the girl quaked in her metaphorical boots.

'I-I need to get Healer Robinson…' she said, as though asking permission from a teacher to go to the bathroom.

'Why? What's wrong with him now?' Moody snarled.

'H-His hand…' She flapped the sheet halfheartedly, as though pointing to where the boy's hand would be, or what remained of it, and hurried out of the room as Moody crossed the room, his wooden leg _clunk-clunking_ as he did.

Moody's regular eye widened, as his other eye spun wildly. James took that to mean surprise, though it was hard to tell with Mad-Eye, and quickly moved to stand next to his mentor. He noticed that Sirius stayed put, still staring at the boy's face with solemnity. James didn't entirely understand why, and would need to talk to him later about it.

'Holy shit…'

'Tha's about right,' Moody agreed with James' sentiment. James waited for another reaction, and looked around for his wife. She was standing not far from Sirius, not having come to check out Moody's find either, and James felt his own worry spike as he saw her. Lily was pale, with eyes watery and a hand over her mouth. 'Bloody incredible,' Moody poked at the silver that was growing from the boy's hand with something akin to wonder, as James moved to his wife's side.

'Lils?' James touched her shoulder softly, but Lily didn't respond to his touch or voice. 'Lils, what's wrong?'

'His eyes, James…' she blinked hard, pointing at the boy's face, and a tear rolled down her cheek as she looked at her husband. 'He has my eyes.'

'He… Lils, he has green eyes. Lots of people have green eyes, it doesn't mean anything.' James assured her.

'He has _my_ eyes. They's _exactly like mine_.' Lily insisted, eyes on the boy again and radiating shock.

'Lils-'

' _He has my_ -'

'She's right, James.' At this, James snapped around to stare at his best mate. Not because he was shocked that Sirius was agreeing with Lily, but because Sirius had called him _James_. Remus switched between nicknames and given names, James did, too, when the situation was serious, but Sirius _never_ used anything but Prongs or Jimmy. 'They're her eyes, not just green, they're exactly the same. Same shape, same colour, same… nobody else has eyes like that. Not that I've ever seen.' Sirius' voice was serious, and James didn't even feel like making a bad pun out of it.

'So _what_?' James asked, 'Surely there's got to be someone out there with eyes that are identical to all of us? Lily's eyes are breathtaking, but there are six billion other people with eyes as well.' James felt like shouting, just to stop this… whatever it was. Lily continued to looked mortified, Remus was silent, and Sirius was not being a goofball. The situation was horrible, but it didn't involve any of them. None of them were even hurt… What was going on?

'They're genetics. _Magical_ genes, in fact; it isn't _possible_ for someone else to have that trait, because it is unique to Lily's magical line. And her magical line is _brand new_.' Sirius shook his head as he spoke, and looked from the boy to lock eyes with James. James saw the cold anger in his eyes, and felt his own widen.

'Look… I don't know what you're all thinking, but there's no way he's related to Lily. Her family's not magical… unless… no, even Petunia wouldn't be so cruel as to do _this_.' Now James' eyes were on the boy, staring with confusion and horror.

'No! No, my sister wouldn't do this to him!' Lily suddenly, and adamantly, denied.

'See?' James looked pointedly at his friend. Sirius stared back with a cold gaze.

'He looks a lot like you, too, James.'

'So _what_? You think I fucked Petunia? I'd rather cut off my own cock!' James exclaimed and then realised what he'd said. He looked at Lily, but she didn't seem to care what he'd said, instead staring at Sirius.

'No, that's not what I think.' Sirius shook his head, expression not cracking at James' statement.

'Well. then, what? Unless we had a secret child that neither of us knew about, he's not related to us. No matter how much he looks like either of us, it has to be a coincidence.' He stated with conviction, and waited for Sirius to nod, or agree, or for the black-haired man's expression to change in any way whatsoever.

'Did you?' Sirius asked, watching James without emotion in his eyes. Judging him on something that was clearly important to the Black Patriarch.

James stared back, and tried to understand the question he had been asked. He frowned, and asked, 'Did I... what?'

'Have another child? Did Amaryllis have a twin?' Sirius got to the point, and James recoiled.

'What?! No!' He was reeling all of a sudden, sick to his stomach at the insinuation. 'You think we'd do that? You think _I'd_ do that? Abandon my child? My _son_?' Lily was stiff next to him, and James didn't need to look at her to know feel her anger.

Sirius stared back at the pair for what felt like hours, as Remus and Moody watched the silent exchange.

'No. I guess not.' Sirius gave an unconvincing smile, as he looked at the boy again. 'I guess I've always wanted a godson… and…' Sirius closed his eyes, and James knew his friend well enough to see conflict below the surface.

'And your family's... your family.' James finished the thought, with a pang of sadness that was more potent than he had felt even for the boy. He knew Sirius better than anyone on Earth, and his best friend's family had disowned him as a teenager. For them to abandon toss a baby out into the cold, for some twisted and imagined reason, was hardly a stretch.

'Yeah… I'm sorry, Prongs. Sorry, Lils; it was rotten of me to suggest you'd be like that.' Sirius plastered a fake grin on his face, not one to break down around even his best friends, and walked for the door. 'I'll grab us all some food to make up for it.' He opened the door and strode through without thinking to take orders, and it would be some time before he returned with bright red knuckles- cuts healed by his own hand, rather than by one of those who worked here.

'Where are the Healers?' Remus spoke, from his quiet vigil.

As if waiting for that que, the young Healer and Healer Robinson hurried into the room, to be met by Mad-Eye Moody and an uncharacteristic number of questions. Or, uncharacteristic outside of an interrogation. James wondered if the old Auror might see himself in the unconscious teen, and felt a horrid pang in his chest at the thought.

-()-

Remus Lupin returned to the Hospital, and was ignored by those who worked in St Mungo's. Not because they disliked his kind, as was usually the cause of such behaviour, but because he was becoming a regular here. In the two months since the boy had arrived, since Remus had found him, he had been here at least once per two days. Sometimes Remus stayed only an hour or two, in those cases because Shannon and/or Alex had accompanied, but he often was here well into the night if he went home before morning at all.

Today was going to be one of the shorter visits, most likely. Alex was nearing the nine month mark, and appointments were becoming more and more frequent for the both of them together. Remus knew he was lucky to have a wife that understood why he was doing this; he had not even needed to tell her, and Alexandra had assured him she understood. In the boy, Remus saw himself. Or himself, had he not had others to help shoulder the burden, in his parents and in his friends, alone and without hope as he tried to get by with nothing but scraps and solitude. More of his kind went through that than should have, in the twenty-first century.

When the boy woke, Remus wanted him to know that there _were_ those who cared about him. That he wasn't the only one in the world who had gone through these things, even if his experiences had been entirely more severe than Remus' himself.

As he took his chair in the boy's room, Remus sighed sadly. He hated this. He hated all of it. That he didn't understand how the boy had come to be in the Potter property, James and Sirius had had exactly no luck in their investigation; that he didn't understand the metal that had grown to replace the boy's lost flesh, which even the most knowledgeable Healers were baffled by; that he didn't understand how the boy had been unable to transform at the Full Moon a week ago or on the same night the month before

And even more than that he had hated it when, twenty days ago, he had been told of the night by the Aurors that were in the room. Even unconscious, a Werewolf turned, and that was why he had been ruled as something different to a Werewolf, but the Auror and the Healers who had eventually been compelled to come to the room had seen, plain as day, that the boy was afflicted by _something_.

Something worse than Lycanthropy, from what they could tell. Because he had not been howling, not really, as the moon had reached its peak.

He had been screaming.

The boy had writhed and pulled against the restraints as he wailed himself hoarse from absolute agony. James had come, when they'd let him know, and had desperately tried to find something that would work on the unconscious boy to stop the suffering. None of the others had been willing to administer it, even if they were all shivering under the sounds the boy made, because they feared lycanthropy.

Nothing had stilled him, Stunners and Numbing Draughts doing absolutely nothing, and the boy had continued to scream.

As though he was constantly in the initial stages of transformation, when his body warred against itself. Remus knew that stage well; it was the stage that he remembered the most vividly, when wishing that he was not the way he was. It was the stage in which he wished he could just _die_ so that the pain would stop.

Remus stared at the boy's sleeping face. His expression was peaceful, somehow...

He noticed that the sheets had been changed, meaning the young female Healer had given him a sponge bath, and winced at the knowledge of what was covered by the sheets. He, Sirius, and James had all been glad, for the boy and for _that_ male empathy, when they were assured that his genitals were untouched by the metal scarring. No man would wish that upon another, and it made him shudder to even think about it.

But that was all the boy had been spared.

His left arm, from an inch above the elbow, was entirely made of the silver. Someone had cut it off. No, not cut it off, the border was far too _rough_ for that. Someone, or something, had _torn_ it off. The Healers had said something about there being the beginnings of a cut before the roughness began, but Remus had not been paying enough attention by that point, given what he had already been told. It hardly seemed significant even in retrospect. Half of his right hand been bloody and missing- the pinky and ring fingers- and Remus' attention had been on watching them regrow.

His torso was littered with the scars, some shallow, some deep, some that made Remus sick to his stomach. He supposed they weren't as bad as his hand or face, though. At least they could be covered by a shirt.

Lily had pulled the sheet back over the boy all too late to cover his modesty. She, like Remus, had been too horrified to do anything but stare at the teenager's injuries.

Overall, the boy looked like he had been through hell. Or been put into a muggle wood-chipper and repaired in the style of the Terminator Franchise.

Remus didn't know whether he agreed with what Lily had done. He knew they needed to do something, and that the boy needed a life beyond the hellish nightmare that he had endured thus far, but he felt that it should be his choice. Whether or not he looked like he was Lily's son, this teenager might not take kindly to being enrolled in school by a woman who had decided she would be a worried hen and fret over him.

Or maybe he would. Maybe the boy would understand that she had done it out of kindness, not to make his life worse. Or, if not, maybe Dumbledore would be able to convince him; Remus had seen the man visiting several times already, with concern outweighing the curiosity that the old wizard had shown at this new method of magical healing. Remus knew it wasn't only concern, a part of the old man wondered what role the boy would play in times to come, but also that Albus cared about all the young Witches and Wizards he met. He came across as grandfatherly, because to him everyone was young and stumbling through life.

Dumbledore was only one among many visitors. James and Lily both had taken to visiting regularly, even if neither was so devoted as Remus, if only because they didn't know what to make of the unconscious boy, and Sirius had initially spent more time in St Mungos than even he. Sirius had realised that it was a bad idea to continue when it dawned on him that he'd not been home in four nights and five days. And, that sleeping in a chair was doing him no good- he was not as young as he used to be.

When Alistor Moody had visited, Remus was uncomfortable. Not because the man was doing anything especially unpleasant, but because Moody made people uncomfortable with his very presence; while the man's human eye was on the boy, the magical orb always felt like it was staring at Remus. Remus had been glad when the number of visits dramatically reduced and then stopped, as though something else was occupying the scarred Auror.

Remus sighed as he stood, and placed a hand on the sleeping Werewolf-who-did-not-change's shoulder. Soon, he believed, his visits would need to drop in number dramatically. He would ask them to get in touch if something happened, but his wife was approaching the due date.

That reminded him. He needed to talk to Sirius and, with James, knock some sense into Padfoot. He might not be a _great_ influence, but the boy would be better off having him in his life rather than just sending an over-the-top sum of money each month to the girl he had knocked up five years ago, a girl who had hidden the child's existence since then. James had coined her a Bitch and, even if he wasn't fond of swear words, Remus had to agree.

Remus left, and it would be the better part of another month before the unconscious young man's eyes would finally open of their own accord. During the time, visitors would come and go and, the night he came to the world of the living, another Full Moon would burn him to his core.


	3. Wandering the Halls, Answering Questions

August 18th 2003 (two minutes after midnight)

As Harry Potter's eyes opened, he found himself disappointed. The reasons for his unhappiness were numerous, but could be largely summed up by listing only three.

First, he found himself awake. Found that there was, in fact, an afterlife and that he would not be granted a peaceful eternity after a thousand lives' worth of fighting.

Second, he found himself in pain. Not in any great measure, because there were no new wounds, but because of long-lasting after-effects of the many curses he had taken. And short-lasting ones, he suspected, since his final fight had only been… three moons ago. Harry blinked, staring at the bright white ceiling as though it was the one responsible for this affront. He had to suffer the change even here? _Why_?

The third was… unexpected. Somewhat. Not really. But gave him greater cause for annoyance than the other two; life and pain were things he had spent the better part of two decades learning to endure. He had not, exactly, realised that he had expectations of the afterlife. He had not expected to expect anyone to be by his side whence he woke.

She wasn't here. He had been certain that she would have been here, waiting for him to come to with that grin that had always infuriated him. Maybe even mocking his poor attempts to return the expression, as he embraced her. The infuriation never lasted, just as her cocksure grin had never lingered for more than a few seconds before dissolving into something more genuine.

She wasn't here. Nor were any others. Not his parents, murdered before he could remember, not his surrogate carers, old friends of James and Lily, not even his dead teachers.

But her absence was a greater disappointment than theirs, for Harry knew she would overlook the sins he had committed in the past year, dirty and brutal tactics that he would not have dared when someone had been there to judge him. The others would try to, they would act as though he was still the loving, optimistic boy denied an existence. But they would not see past it, not really. Only she would.

Harry sat up, and grunted as his body complained and his magic rushed to soothe his limbs. Then he scowled. This time, his foul mood was aggravated by two things.

The fact that he was in a _bed_ , and by his limbs.

He detested beds. It was all too easy to get comfortable in them, and to fall into a deep sleep. He had gained silver because of the mistake before, and the lesson was one he had learned well through pain.

As Harry touched the mattress with his left hand, he found the sensation was still… _that way_. Both less and more than if he had been touching bare flesh against the sheets, because the nerves that told him of the action were not natural. They were magical, and bound to his core rather than his nervous system. It was different from flesh. And it was not a nice surprise to find that he was still made of metal rather than flesh.

Harry glared at the hand, as light bounced off his _skin_. Then, he snarled a curse and swung his feet from the bed; again, he growled as he saw that his right foot had regrown as the metal. But there was nothing to be done about it, and it was not practical to fume, so Harry laid his feet on the cool floor of this white room.

He had to say, this version of an afterlife was hardly original. A white, pure place of transition; the only things missing were his family and friends.

Harry limped out of the room, the different sensations of each leg throwing off his equilibrium, and looked down the corridor. Left and right, left and right. He decided to go left, believing that it would make little to no difference either choice, and walked through the hallway with quick strides. _Click_. _Clunk. Click. Clunk._

Everything was silent for nearly a hundred steps, other than the tingling steps of his entirely metal right foot and the tapping heel and toes of his left on the marble floor, so the first sound he heard stood out quite dramatically against the backdrop.

Someone was crying in distance. Whimpering pitifully. Harry had seen little to suggest that any of the rooms lining the corridor were anything but for show, and so this development was of interest to him.

He turned down a corridor to the right, and sought the source of the sound.

 _Click. Clunk. Click. Clunk._

He took a flight of stairs, and followed the quiet whines of someone in pain. As though on the hunt, Harry stalked through the white place and towards the crying voice.

When he found it, Harry noticed writings on the wall. They announced that this… ward was reserved for long-term recovery from magics that affected the mind. Harry frowned, and placed his right hand on the door's knob. He twisted it slowly, and the door swung open.

Harry walked into the room with a more relaxed pace than he had been using to move through the white halls. He did not want to frighten whomever was upset, and wondered if they were distraught from knowing that they had died; it was, presumably, a common reaction.

His right eye was of very little use, as he found that the room was pitch black. Odd, that his was alight and this one was not; maybe the person had been in here for some time, but was reluctant to leave.

Harry hoped he could help with that.

His left eye moved with the motions of his right, because Harry had no reason to move it independently, as he searched for the crying person. Female, by the sounds of the soft cries. Harry stopped short, though, as the laments quietened.

The room contained far more than just he and one other, Harry saw. Nearly a dozen people were unconscious in beds, and the recently woken Wizard found himself shocked at some of their conditions. Not that they looked injured… they looked like they were dying. As though their bodies were just _shutting down_ , not expiring because of some curse or other, simply as though they were unwilling to continue on in their states. As though their souls were already in the process of leaving the bodies in which they were housed.

But how was that possible? How could one _die_ in the afterlife? By definition, a person had to be dead to be in this… place. Harry frowned some more, as he found the source of the whispering sobs.

A woman, sunken and weak, was sat in her bed with arms wrapped around knees. Pulling them close to her chest as though seeking protection from something or someone. Harry's magical eye scanned the room, and found that there was nothing worthy of fear. Nothing except for him, anyway.

He moved slowly towards the woman, his magical eye scanning her every move to ensure that she was not a trap set for him, with his arms held out to the sides. Through the crack in curtains covering a high-up window, a thin beam of light glanced off the silver of his left arm. The woman fell silent, as she stared in Harry's direction. He supposed that the darkness must have been near-impenetrable for her…

Harry had no wand, so the light that came into being shone from his palm. It would cast his face into sharper shadows and shapes than usual, but it was better for her to watch him approach and be afraid of the man she saw than to be afraid of the man she could not see. Maybe she would notice his age, and that would help.

The light also allowed him to see her more clearly; seeing things and people in the dark meant that the finer details were lost in favour of those that were important. Whether they were armed, and where he would need to aim.

She looked unhealthy, worn out, with stark-white hair falling over fearful large eyes. But she didn't look to be afraid of him, as she started muttering a name under her breath. Harry heard it, and it meant nothing to him.

He had never known anyone by the name of Neville, but that name seemed to mean something to the woman. Seemed to mean everything to the woman. She was crying as she said it, as though Neville was somehow involved in a great loss of hers. Either he was responsible, or he was what she had lost. The woman did look old enough to have had a son, and he had known the loss of a child to drive even the kindest of people into a dark place. This woman must not have come back from the journey.

Harry saw a balding, red haired man scream as his daughter died before his eyes. He saw the kind-hearted Wizard charge into the fray, despite knowing, himself, that he was no warrior. He had seen five Death Eaters fall to Arthur Weasley's wand before the green spell had connected with the man's chest. Harry saw Arthur's oldest son cut down the offending Death Eater, and saw a blonde haired, crippled man shove Bill out of the way to spare him losing his life to Lucius Malfoy's curse. Bill was an exceptional dueler and… Harry didn't remember the other Wizard's name. That Wizard had known that losing Bill would have been a greater loss than a weak and crippled old man. Bill had lasted another six months after that- he had taken two dozen Death Eaters down in that time- before he joined the rest of his family in the beyond.

The woman's voice grew louder, and Harry watched her as she lifted her head and locked her eyes onto his. At first, he was under the impression that she thought him to be her son, but that was not the case. No, this woman was asking something of Harry.

He wondered what it was, and made a mental note to keep an eye out for any mention of this Neville. He wondered if she wanted him to hurt Neville.

Harry watched the woman, and waited for anything else to come from her. She gave no indication that she was capable of saying anything else, and Harry sighed as he stepped closer to her. She kept her eyes locked on his as he approached, and took hold of his forearm as Harry got within her reach.

' _Neville_.' She reiterated.

Harry nodded, 'Neville,' he said, with conviction.

'Neville.' The woman smiled at him, and her hollow cheeks were thrown into greater definition with the expression. Harry laid his right index finger on the woman's scalp, and sent a soothing pulse of magic into her. He caught her shoulders, and laid her gently on the bed. The smile was still on her lips as he left the room in complete silence, and walked the halls.

Harry checked a dozen rooms before he was convinced that this was not what he had initially believed.

For so many people to be in the afterlife, but not… _well_ was inconceivable. If they were being punished, he could wrap his head around it, but they were not. They were unconscious, in many cases comatose, but _ill_. Ill or injured, but not necessarily in pain.

So either the afterlife was the same as the world had been before civilisation fell, or Harry just didn't understand.

His mind went to many explanations, though. Time travel was unlikely, because this did not seem to be the past; he had seen the ruin of St Mordreds… no, St Mungos, and it had not contained even the remnants of the ward in which he had found the sobbing woman. It had also been missing some of the magics he could currently feel, and Harry hazarded a guess that they were newly invented spells.

Nor was this a different timeline. Harry had stumbled across a memorial of Voldemort's first attack on the Wizarding World in the hospital through which he wandered. The difference was, in this world that seemed to have been the end of it. From what Harry understood, rewriting history through such a recently cataclysmic event would doom existence to unravel. Or, at least, for the attempt to backfire entirely. So the only logical possibility in that regard was for someone to have tried to make the situation worse and inadvertently made it better. But Harry had killed all of the Death Eaters, so who would make such an effort.

Harry briefly thought it might have been reincarnation, rather than a true afterlife, and the possibility wasn't altogether impossible but for one simple fact. He was still a teenager, with metal bound to his body in exactly the same fashion as before. He had not been reborn, he had been tossed into this world.

And with that idea, Harry remembered something. A middle aged man with thick glasses, as he insisted that science was the key to defeating Voldemort. Harry had ignored the muggleborn, for the most part, because he felt that the man was being both dumb and insensitive. But, now, Harry remembered one thing the man had said. For some reason, scientists believed that there were other universes that ran parallel to their own. Harry had no idea what had inspired such a belief in them, but was sure they had their reasons; he had no doubt that they were more intelligent than him, after all.

Maybe that was what this was. Harry was on some parallel Earth.

Or maybe it was something other than that. Maybe the afterlife really was this shit.

Whatever the case, it didn't matter at the moment. Harry had no desire to be in this hospital for any longer than he had to be, and after that he would need to find shelter. Or some woods, if changing would be the better option.

As if on cue, his inner wolf woke. It was subdued, still, and Harry understood why; it had been only a day since the Full Moon and his urges would be as low, now, as they ever were. But it was another thing that had, apparently, come with him.

Harry sighed as he entered the stairwell of the Hospital and began to descend. Logically, the exit would be on the ground floor and, so, Harry headed for the door.

Maya Lenorae looked up from her book, as the door to the stairwell opened, and her mouth fell open in shock as a naked young man walked into reception.

The muggle novel, romance that bordered on smut, fell to the floor with a _thud_ and Maya hoped that the teen would ignore the fallen book. She would be embarrassed even if it wasn't a muggle book. Her family would be horrified if it got out that she was enjoying that particular type of literature.

She made nary a sound, as he strode through the area with surface, but felt her face heat up as the muscular youth, four or five years her junior, passed by her without showing any sign that he knew she was there. That he was naked stood out to her even more than the fact that two of his limbs weren't the colour of the rest of his pale skin, but as the teenager crossed the threshold of the hospital it dawned on her who he must be. She had been told to contact Mr Potter immediately if his nephew woke up, and made sure to send word even before rushing off to find the Healer on call.

James beat Remus to St Mungos by thirty seconds, but the fact that he came as soon as he got word didn't do anything to change that the previously comatose boy had a very large head start.

'I don't understand!' the Healer James was interrogating stated with passion, 'It shouldn't be possible for him to be awake! Let alone up and walking out of the hospital!'

'And why is that?' James asked, for clarification.

'He was as close to death as anyone I have ever _seen_ less than two months ago! He was in a _coma_ an hour ago! People don't just _wake up_ from something like that; they gradually stir and then wake and then need months and months of therapy to regain even _some_ of their strength. It simply isn't _possible_ for him to just up and leave!'

'Maybe he didn't leave of his own volition,' James suggested, as Remus strode over to the speaking pair.

'No. No, the girl on reception was quite adamant that he was conscious and by himself.' The Healer shook his head, scowling in thought as he waved a hand in dismissal.

'He might have been imperiused,' Remus suggested.

'Not possible,' the raggard Healer shook his head, 'we added wards against such a thing after last summer. Your department would have known the moment a Dark spell was cast.' James winced and nodded, remembering the Wizard who had come in and begun firing dark spells left and right; fifteen people had been injured, and that only four lives were lost was solely because they had already been in the hospital when they were attacked. 'His mind had to be his own. If they were going to force him to come, they would have had to levitate him out.'

'Then your girl is lying,' James said, after a moment's thought. The boy could not have walked out, and could not have been forced out. That meant that their information was incorrect somewhere, and the girl working on reception was the obvious culprit.

'She is _not_.' The Healer denied, vehement. 'I assure you she is as trustworthy as they come.'

'Oh, really?' James arched an eyebrow, as he eyed the girl sat at the desk with her hands folded before her. She fidgeted, 'If I remember correctly, she's a cousin to the Malfoys. Is she not?'

'And what does that have to do with anything?' The Healer glared at James, with his arms crossed. The man seemed offended at James' implication.

'What else? The Malfoys could easily have decided they need to find out about this boy, if not to know about his unique healing method then to know if they can hurt the light using him.' James honestly thought the answer to be obvious, but the Healer puffed up and bristled at James' statement.

'I assure you, Mr Potter, we are not in the habit of hiring kidnappers. She is a good girl, and does not need you judging her based on her family's alleged transgressions.' He glared some more with the statement, 'Now, unless there is anything else?'

James gave no answer, and the man turned on his heel to go and find something else to do. Perhaps to go back to his nap. The Potter Patriarch turned to his friend, and asked the necessary question.

'You smell him, Moony?'

'I… think so.' Remus said, nodding hesitantly. 'I don't think we should wait for Sirius; who knows if he's home or not, and the cub must be in Muggle London somewhere. If one of them gets a glimpse of him…'

'Yeah. That wouldn't be good.' James nodded, and Remus jogged off down the street. Heading East.

James followed his friend, trusting Remus' nose as they weaved left and then right and then right again before crossing the street and heading towards a nearby river. Remus ducked into an ally, and then came back out immediately. The two went _through_ a different ally, and Remus stopped before the wall of a parking structure and pressed his knuckle against a drainpipe that had been recently ripped from the wall. James gathered that the boy must have been planning to scale the building, but that the pipe had not held up to his initial test.

Remus had moved more slowly, then, as though the scent was less clear. James still didn't question his friend, and after only two wrong turns it became clear that he was right to place faith in Remus' nose.

Harry dropped the rock he had been hefting, as a pair of men stopped around the corner from his chosen spot. They whispered at each other, one telling the other to _stay back_ and that _he_ , meaning Harry, would react better to just one of them and that _you_ would just freak _him_ out.

The speaking man was a werewolf, Harry noted.

Then, the other man _scoffed_ , and the werewolf gave an indignant noise before Harry heard him fall onto his backside. The other man stumbled as he rounded the corner, and swore as his head knocked against the low bridge; Harry had almost done the same when he happened across the bridge next to a river of clean-ish water.

The man had a curious smell, as though he had a pet deer. For a wizard, there were any number of explanations. But he remembered, once upon a time, hearing stories about a werewolf whose friends had become animagi for the sake of keeping him company during the full moon.

The werewolf had berated _Prongs_ for being rash, and Prongs, the Animagus, had called the wolf _Moony_ as he tried to insist that whoever _he_ was, he needed to know. That _Lils_ needed to know.

Something about Harry's breathing pattern, most likely that it shifted at that name, had told _Moony_ that he could hear. The werewolf had warned his friend of as much, and there had been the sounds of hands going into pockets.

Harry guessed that they would have wands in hand before the light of a _lumos_ shone in the corner of his eye.

Harry had sat very still and very unarmed, as his dead father, and the man who'd had as great a hand in raising him as any other, walked slowly around the corner. He felt their wands on him as they stared. Harry imagined that his _scars_ were shocking in the bright glow, for people to whom he was a stranger.

Harry waited for one of the men to speak, but neither did. Not for some time, anyway.

James' breathing hitched, Harry expected that he was seeing a resemblance to himself. Or to his father, Harry had once been told that James looked as similar to Fleamont as Harry did to James.

James Potter. Prongs. Harry's father, who died on Halloween night when Harry was a babe. The man who had died in an attempt to buy Harry's mother time to take their child and run. On paper, the idiot who had tried to fight the most dangerous Dark Wizard of their time, unarmed and outmatched. But, according to his friends, the brave man who had been willing to die if it meant he could hold Riddle off for even a second and give his family another moment of life.

If there had been any doubt in Harry's mind that he was no longer in the world he had called his own, it fled with the man's appearance and his seeing that there was no trickery involved in his father's presence. No Glamours, no Polyjuice. Harry supposed it could be an exceptionally talented Metamorphmagus, but then there was the smell. A Metamorphmagus could not be an Animagus, so it was even more unlikely that James Potter had been perfected by a shapeshifter.

Harry pushed thoughts away, as the memories of who had taught him those facts rushed to the front of his mind.

Harry's magical eye, hidden to those watching him, turned to look at the wand in the man's hand. Eleven inches, made of Mahogany with a Unicorn hair as its core. Harry remembered a tale about the animal from the Wandmaker as he slowly died; _an exceptional creature_ , Olivander had whispered, _only three hairs, though. A shame… the bond those wands had with their wizards… near unbreakable_.

The wand in _Prongs_ ' hand did not seem to be giving any trouble to its wielder. It was James.

And that meant the man next to him was Remus Lupin. A healthy, happy Remus, far different from the exhausted war-torn werewolf Harry had known, but Remus all the same. A man no doubt different in all ways from his twin from Harry's world.

Harry sighed, as he looked at the water. A part of him wanted to rejoice at seeing his surrogate father alive and well. Better than Harry had ever seen him, in fact. He repressed the memory of Remus in wolf form, being taken to the ground and swarmed by those of his kind who had sided with Voldemort. He tried not to hear the cries of Remus' wolf that had rung over the sounds of Harry's own fight.

Harry didn't rejoice. Instead, Harry stayed crouched on the ground, uncaring of the cold ground on his bare foot and the wall against his back.

When one of the two finally spoke, Harry heard that the familiar voice was without the underlying pain and sadness of losing everyone he had ever cared for. No wonder he had not recognised it, at first.

'Why did you leave the hospital?' Remus Lupin asked. Harry's human eye flicked to the man's face, and found that Remus was crouched not far from him. 'You could have stayed there for as long as you needed, and it would have been far more comfortable than… this.' He looked around at the damp and shadowed space in which they were talking.

Harry wondered about that himself. Maybe he'd left because it was ingrained in him that staying in one place for longer than was absolutely necessary was the move of a suicidal man. Maybe it was because he did not want to be at the mercy of Healers and doctors to prod at his silver-flesh, to ask what exactly it was. Maybe it was because the Ministry would come to ask those same questions, and because Harry had taken the lives of a fair few of their number. Because they had, in return, taken the lives of those he cared about. Or perhaps it was not any of them, and he had just felt like moving, had wanted to understand the world he was in.

Harry didn't express any of these, as he spoke in a strained rasp. 'Do you know what happened to my clothes?' He asked, both eyes on the werewolf.

'Your… you weren't wearing any clothes when I found you.' Remus told him, with a frown.

Harry blinked slowly, processing the words carefully as he did everything that he heard. 'Where did you find me?' He asked, eventually.

'In the woods of the Potter household.' Remus answered, concisely, with the concern still on his brow. 'Do you remember how you got there?'

Harry didn't. Last thing he remembered, before waking in the hospital, was death stalking towards him. A dozen or more curses that should have killed him had been seeping into his body and the magic in his center, and even without them Harry had been mortally wounded. He had not had the magic to repair the wounds, and would have been dead from a rotting core long before the injuries could close anyway.

Harry remembered thinking that he would be allowed to die, then. A stupid assumption, for one who had been refused passage to the other side so many times before. But he had thought it every time he had been "killed". Dying was what people did, Harry knew that better than most, so why should he be the exception?

Harry shook his head, staring into the dark waters slowly moving down stream.

'Do you remember what happened before?' James asked, his voice nearly as soft as Remus'. There was a note of conflict, though, and Harry assumed it stemmed from their shared features. James wanted to know why Harry looked like him, or like his son, perhaps James had a son in this life, too, but couldn't ask a boy who looked to be in this fragile state.

Harry nodded, but didn't speak. He had no desire to speak more than was needed; even after the better part of a year, his throat burned even when Harry was just breathing.

'Could you tell us?' James asked. Harry looked at him, now, and saw the man flinch as he turned his head. Either because of the inhuman visage, or the corrupt blend of his and Lily's looks.

'You would think me crazy.'

'We would give you the benefit of the doubt,' Remus told him reassuringly. Harry noticed that the crouching werewolf didn't flinch when their eyes met.

He considered the man, and spoke. 'After killing Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, and ending a war that had spanned decades, in a world parallel to this one, in a conflict that resulted in the deaths of he, his followers, and the Dark creatures with him, I died from a mixture of blood loss and the dark curses that had been cast on me. I have no idea how I arrived in this world, and when I left the hospital I did so assuming that I had reached whatever afterlife there might be.'

After a long pause, it was James Potter that spoke again. 'Well, I see why you said we'd think you were crazy.'

Harry nodded, and went back to watching the waters in the dark. Remus glared at James, and Harry's not-father gave a helpless shrug at the expression.

'Clearly you've gone through something severe, who's to say that you didn't go through… that?'

James whispered, 'Moony, what are you-'

'He can hear you, Prongs.' Remus reminded his friend, 'What's your name, son?' Harry looked at him again, at that.

'Harry,' Harry told him. James made a noise, and likely would have spoken had Harry not continued, 'Potter.'

'And… why were you the one fighting this fight, Harry?' Remus asked, voice still soft. Harry wondered how this Lupin was so good at that, and whether he might have children of his own in this reality.

'Who else?' Harry asked, with a shrug of his shoulders, meaning it to be rhetorical. Apparently it didn't come across that way, since Remus gave an answer.

'Dumbledore? The Aurors?'

'Dumbledore died long before that fight. Most of the Aurors, too,' Harry said. Very few of the Law-Enforcement officers had joined Riddle. But those that did took the others off-guard, and cut them down from inside their ranks. Dumbledore's death was of a more grandiose nature. Memorable, even to one who had not been a witness.

Remus didn't speak again for a few minutes. When he did, it was an unexpected question that he asked.

'Do you know who we are, Harry?' Lupin asked, pointing first to himself and then to James.

'Remus Lupin and James Potter,' Harry nodded.

'Who are we to you?' he then asked.

'You were the closest thing I had to a father through my childhood and up until about a year ago.' Harry told Remus; Lupin seemed too receptive of Harry's retelling of events. No doubt he was lying, but it made Harry more comfortable in this conversation.

'And me?' James asked, then. Harry heard discomfort in the man's voice; James didn't want to know, but he had asked anyway.

'My father.' Harry told him.

The man nodded. Made an unintelligible sound. Spoke. ' _Yep_. I'm calling Dumbledore.'

Harry didn't try to stop the man, and wondered what it was that had made the man who wasn't his father call Dumbledore, rather than mind wizards. He pinpointed a possibility, and was interested that James knew Tom Riddle was Lord Voldemort. And that it would matter.

When Harry had visited the castle in his world, Dumbledore's office had been razed by destructive magics. He had seen pieces of gold and silver littering the floor, and Harry seemed to remember that there had been a picture frame still hanging, crooked, on the wall.

But those had been overshadowed by the phoenix that had been crying a lamenting song, as though he had known Harry would be coming on that particular day.

Harry stared at the same phoenix, and Fawkes stared back at him with equal interest from his perch. Harry ignored the conversation that was going on behind him as best he could, but it was not easy given that one of the participants was drunk as a skunk and had no control of his volume. And Dumbledore had not bothered to cast a ward to stop him from hearing.

Sirius Black had labelled Harry _Jimmy_ upon stumbling into the room, and had laughed hysterically at his own joke about seeing double. He had stumbled against the wall, narrowly missing a Headmaster's portrait who had berated him for shaming the House of Black with his display. Sirius had blown a raspberry at the man, and then made to take a swig from the non-existent bottle in his left hand, rather than the right. He had giggled, taken a swig of the whiskey in his right, and James had slapped _Padfoot_ over the back of his head.

Harry had voluntarily taken a drink of the Veritaserum, and the questions had begun. Remus had asked them, and had used the opportunity mainly to verify what Harry had told them earlier that day.

 _What is your name?_

'Harry James Potter.'

 _Who were your parents?_

'James and Lily Potter.'

 _And did they die when you were a baby?_

'They died and left me an orphan, yes.'

 _Who killed them?_

'Tom Marvelo Riddle.'

 _Who was the Dark Lord you faced?_

'Tom Marvelo RIddle, under the moniker of Lord Voldemort.'

 _And the war never ended?_

'No.'

 _Voldemort wasn't ever defeated?_

'He was.'

 _Then how did the war continue?_

'He came back shortly after his killing curse backfired on him.'

 _How? Please answer to the best of your ability._

'From what I understand he told his Lieutenants how to resurrect him should he die in one of the upcoming conflicts. He didn't think it would be at the hands of a baby, though. I believe he feared Dumbledore would defeat him.'

 _What happened to the rest of the Wizarding World? The Ministry? Gringotts?_

'They died or fled.'

 _Fled abroad?_

'Yes.'

 _Why didn't you follow them?_

'We did, for a time.'

 _For a time? What do you mean?_

'The conflict spread. Riddle was the catalyst, but the entire world split into Dark and Light Wizards.'

 _What happened to the Mundanes?_

'They fought back and lost.'

 _Did they die?_

'Many died. Others hid.'

 _What happened to the rest of the World?_

'Most of it was infected by Dark Magic and became devoid of life.'

 _What happened to the population of Magicals?_

'The Light Wizards died or became dark. The Dark Wizards fought each other.'

 _And Voldemort defeated them?_

'Yes. But many of his number died in the effort, and most Dark Creatures left his side when they saw how fickle wizards are.'

 _And you defeated him?_

'I killed him.'

 _Was everything you told us earlier true, to the best of your knowledge?_

'Yes.'

Sirius had yelled another query, trying to break the sudden unpleasant mood, that Harry had to answer as James punched his friend.

'None. By the time I was old enough for that sort of thing, there weren't any girls around.'

Dumbledore had peered over his bridged fingers, and asked a final question in a contemplative voice.

'Have you survived an encounter with the Killing Curse?'

'... yes.'

That held some significance to those in the room, beyond the fact that it should be impossible. Harry wondered what exactly that was, and why they seemed to be staring at his forehead.

After that, they had given Harry the antidote and began their discussion.

'We _all_ know that Veritaserum can be fooled. Impressive as it might be for a boy his age to be that skilled at Occlumency, it isn't impossible.' James told them. He was the most motivated to disprove what had been claimed, for the simple reason that Harry was apparently his _son_. Harry had no way to change that mindset, so he didn't try. Now that Dumbledore was involved, they would be convinced eventually. 'He doesn't have a curse-scar, for Merlin's sake!'

'And we've seen all of him, so we'd know if he did!' Sirius added.

'And what? That makes him some Dark Wizard?' Remus asked.

'No! Not a Dark Wizard, someone who's _ill_ and needs help!'

'Uuuugh, I think _I_ might be ill…'

'Someone who's _ill_ but still skilled enough in Occlumency to trick _Veritaserum_?'

James knew that wasn't possible, apparently, and gave another possibility. 'Maybe he believes what he's saying, but that doesn't mean it's _true_.'

'EXACTLY! It's like picking up a bird- of you're gonna be convincing you need to believe it yourse-'

'And how do you explain the injuries? How do you explain the fact that he looks like _you_ with Lily's eyes?'

'Like a guy version of Ama- Am- your daughter! Except, y'know, not girly. And like a robot.'

'Shut up, Padfoot!' James snapped. Sirius made the noise of a distressed puppy, which was ignored by everyone involved. ' _Obviously_ he's been through something horrible. That's _what_ made him dream this stuff up.'

'You ignored my second point of inquiry. He looks like the child of James and Lily Potter. How do you explain that?'

'He's… related to me?'

'And Lily? He has her eyes, and we've been over the fact that it's a magical trait.'

'Someone… could have given him her eyes?' Harry imagined that, even to James' ears, that sounded weak.

They were silent for a time, and then nonsense interrupted the serious conversation.

'Not possible! I saw her earlier, and Lillllly still has her eyes!' Sirius exclaimed, followed by, 'OW!' and then the sounds of a man roughly six-foot tall and one-hundred ninety pounds hopping around the room. Harry guessed that James was the one to have stomped on his foot.

'James, my boy, nobody will blame you if you choose not to take him into your home. Harry said, himself, that he is dangerous, and you have young children to think about.' Dumbledore said, in a voice that was very calm for the situation at hand.

'Of course we're taking him in!' Harry was surprised at that, and imagined that Remus was staring at the man as though he had sprouted another head. Even Fawkes gave a confused tilt of his head as he continued to stare at Harry.

'Then why are you so adamant about him being ill?!' Remus demanded. They no longer made any attempt at staying quiet, and the volume was distracting enough that Harry barely noticed Fawkes fly over to stand on the desk only a foot-or-so from Harry. The phoenix looked even more majestic up close.

'Because!' James yelled back, with something in his voice.

'Because of what?!' Remus asked, his own voice almost angry.

'Because if he's my son, I fucking failed him and I don't know how to deal with that!'

Fawkes began cooing as Harry determinedly kept his eyes on the bird, and not on the scene behind him. Maybe they would believe he hadn't heard their exchange if he didn't look. Other than the musical sound, a pin dropping would have sounded like a cannon compared to the silence of the room's occupants.

Then the silence was broken by the sounds of _heaving_ and the angry voice of James Potter.

'Oi! Fucking hell, Padfoot! These were nice shoes!'

Eventually the group moved back over to Harry, with James, barefoot, muttering about Sirius owing him new Dragonhide shoes. Dumbledore made a request, then, of the youngest seated person. He didn't seem to pay the phoenix sitting between them any notice.

'Harry,' the aged wizard began, 'I would ask that you allow me to see some of your memories. Nothing intrusive, of course, just the key events in your world's war.'

'Why?'

'Primarily to see if I can learn something of Tom by doing so. But also, I admit, to verify the truth of your words for myself. I have a certain talent for identifying false or planted memories, and would be remiss if I did not ask for the chance.'

Harry considered it, rolling the options over in his mind, and nodded.

'Okay.' He told him, while the two sober others frowned and the last human present swayed unsteadily with a look of utmost concentration on his face. 'So long as I can choose which memories to give you.' There were some memories that Harry would not share with anyone.

Dumbledore nodded. 'Of course. If I may?' He held the wand aloft, Harry's eyes following it, and asked permission. Harry nodded slowly, and waited for instruction. 'Just call the memory to mind, and I will do the rest.'

Four times Harry brought a memory to mind, and four times strands of silver liquid were pulled from his temple. They were largely harmless, but Harry counted on them keeping the wizard busy and interested for so long as he wanted to examine them- they would even be helpful to him in showing what had happened. Just without showing Harry's worst moments. And, while Harry had never done it himself, he had seen others extract and give memories; even if every possible thing went wrong, all that would happen was the memory would turn fuzzier than it had been before and he would get a headache. A headache would be nothing compared to concussions and split skulls, and Harry could stand to forget some of the things that he had just given to Dumbledore for perusal.

'Please keep them to yourself, though,' he requested, with a glance that made it clear the others in the room shouldn't see them, 'and I hope I don't need to tell you some of what happens in them is unpleasant. In that one in particular there are a few people you might know who… perish.'

In the memory Harry was pointing to, Voldemort fought and killed two people who had previously been Hogwarts professors. He had just finished killing a hook-nosed man named Snape, or Snivellus if Harry remembered Sirius' nickname properly from the times he'd been regaled with stories of it during his early years, and the small man and older woman had been fighting with all their worth. They cared for the plump witch who was under the torture-spell behind Riddle, and had been desperately trying to stop the cackling woman. Bellatrix had always enjoyed that Unforgivable. Remus and Sirius had both been furious when the older witch fell.

Harry frowned, with a realisation just out of reach. What he was missing?

'I understand,' Dumbledore nodded solemnly, 'and I will not share these with another soul.'

Harry assumed that Dumbledore already knew he was some variation of a Werewolf. The most recent of the memories included his transformation, and Harry hoped showing it to the man would not come back to bite him.

Harry was inclined to trust Albus Dumbledore, with four or five names between his first and last that Harry couldn't remember, because he had been raised with tales of the man's integrity and self-sacrifice. Dumbledore had believed in the prophecy about Harry and Voldemort, and was willing to die to give Harry a chance to live on. But, eventually, that was not why the man had given his life. Dumbledore had matched a large group of Death Eaters, the exact number varying depending on who was retelling the tale, and defeated them in defense of Hogwarts. He had ordered the other teachers to escort the children away, and had stayed behind. There had been no possibility of Dumbledore escaping the fight, outmatched by the horde of creatures and Wizards that was approaching, and the man had known it. But the children had escaped.

And if Harry was wrong to trust him, it was better to learn so now than later down the road.

'I believe, James, that you said you would provide young Harry with a place to stay?'

'Or we can get you a room at the Leaky Cauldron or something,' James said, when Harry didn't give much response.

'No. He should stay with you.' Remus answered, firmly. 'I'd offer a place, but our house is full enough already and we have a baby on the way.' Harry looked at the man upon hearing that explanation, and found that he was happy for Remus. There was a very real glimmer of joy in the man's eye.

'I would prefer to stay with you,' Harry gave his own opinion. And he would like to look through their woods, to see if his eye could pick anything up, 'but it might be best if I am kept away from your home. Glamours don't hide… me.' Harry tried to think of a better word for his appearance, and failed.

'So?'

'You have children, from what I understand? I have a habit of scaring people the first time we meet.'

'Don't worry about it. They've all got the courage of Gryffindors.' James said, suddenly beaming. 'And I think Amaryllis will be happy to meet you. You'll… nevermind.'

'I'll what?' Harry asked, genuinely curious.

'Make her feel inconspicuous.' James answered, with a grimace, as Harry frowned and pondered what he meant by that. When Remus saw the look of confusion on his face, the man gave an explanation.

'She has a curse-scar that get's her a lot of attention.'

'Attention comparative to what I will draw? What happened to her?' Harry asked, bluntly, with the frown still present.

'The eldest Miss Potter was struck by a Killing Curse, also,' Dumbledore told him when Remus failed to answer, and James still looked uncomfortable.

'Killing Curse? So she's…' He gestured towards himself, not liking the title even when it had been applied to him. It had been the first, but not the last.

'The girl-who-lived.' Dumbledore finished for Harry, without a smile.


	4. Gazing at new Stars

**I'd just like to clarify here: I know that things such as Harry's back story aren't explained, and I certainly don't expect you to have deduced anything from what's been said so far, but it's my preferred style of writing. I don't like to spoon feed answers from the get go, I like to let mysteries linger and curiosities grow. You have my apologies, as posting the story a chapter at a time means that an introduction that explained all you needed to know would make the tale more cohesive and clear. But this is the way I want to write, so here we are. Everything will be clarified in due time.**

 **Enjoy.**

August 18th, 2003

James Potter tossed and turned in his bed, for the few hours of sleep he could grab before needing to be up in the morning. His workload would be lightened, slightly, with Harry's case being swept under the rug by Dumbledore's influence, but, even so, James needed to get a dozen cases processed in the two days before the weekend. Otherwise, it would be impossible to catch up after the World Cup; the number of cases that came through skyrocketed every time it was in England and James was technically on duty through most of the Weekend, acting as extra security in the campsite, so the majority would fall into his lap.

But he couldn't sleep. He was having nightmares about a long-lost son who had to fight for his life in a world at war. A son of his who fought and killed the most dangerous Dark Wizard in recent history at the age of sixteen. A son who lost two of his limbs, and gained any number of scars- both physical and mental- in the process.

Here and there, James got an hour or less. When Six AM rolled around, he was watching the time tick by, knowing he needed to get some more sleep or he would be exhausted throughout the day. James punched the pillow, and squeezed his eyes shut. He counted sheep, and got up to a hundred and fifty before deciding that this was a stupid method anyway. Then he opened his eyes, and was shocked to see that it was seven fifteen.

He must have fallen asleep, and then dreamt about counting sheep. Bloody hell.

' _James_!' Lily yelled, panicked, from somewhere in the house.

Harry had spent the last five hours staring at the sky.

He got to see the stars in the sky again, and it seemed almost too good to be true that the sky was without clouds. He didn't know where _here_ was, James had apparated them to the Potter land, but Harry could tell it was far from any cities. St Mungos was in London, and he had barely even been able to see the moon as he wandered the streets in search of shelter. He'd forgotten about light pollution, over the years.

He had been glad to find that the constellations in this world were the same as those in the one he had left.

There were few things in life that held meaning to Harry. The stars in the sky were near the top of the list. Scratch that. They were the list, at the time of his death.

The air was cool, and the conjured thin clothes Harry wore did little to fight the chill. It was a pleasant change to the scorched world on which Harry had endured. Moist air felt far better in his lungs.

Hours passed without thought, as he watched the stars slowly move across the sky. When thoughts did come, they were of a time years before. It had been a thousand nights since that time ended, plus the ones he had not been conscious for. Why he had counted, Harry did not know. He just felt like he should remember her, somehow, for his sanity and for her memory.

She had known nothing about Astronomy, but she'd been insistent that the names she invented were real. When he had laughed at her less thought out attempts, including three separate pidgeon constellations, she had jabbed him in the ribs and told Harry to _shut up and what would you know about stars_. She, after all, came from a family that was obsessed with naming their kids after stars and constellations. To prove her point, she had pointed out Andromeda and _Canine_ Major, which contained the Dog Star. She'd jabbed him again, when Harry asked when they'd changed the name of Canis Major.

Harry had been thirteen at the time, she had been older. Not much, but older and with the confidence of being able to read him like a picture book. That was good. Harry had gotten his first scars by then, had had the first since before his tenth birthday, despite Remus' and Sirius' attempts to keep him from harm's way. She was the one who had been willing to cuddle up to him, Harry never would have dared. She had been the one to kiss him, Harry never would have thought it.

And then she had been the one to die.

Harry blinked, and the night seemed to pass him by. The stars faded and the moon followed, as the sun turned the sky orange. Harry lay down on the cool grass, and rested for over an hour before sounds beyond the chirping of birds woke him.

When Harry did regain consciousness, it wasn't to feel fear. Nothing of the sort. He wondered, though, why the little girl had come to sit next to him.

The redhead's eyes were as green as Harry's own, and reportedly those of his mother. Harry looked at her curiously, as the six-or-seven year old stared at him with open interest.

'What happened to your face?' She asked, in an inquisitive voice.

'Battlewounds.' Harry answered back, running his right thumb over one of the diagonal scars.

'And your hands?'

'Same.'

'Feet?'

'Yep.'

'Hm,' the girl cupped her chin in an adult expression of thought that, on the girl's slightly chubby cheeks, looked cute, 'you are an anomaly.'

'Am I?' Harry asked, still lying in the grass. He wondered if maybe he should have been worried about the girl… he had a very simplistic view of what was a threat and what wasn't, and little children had never yet fallen into the category.

'You are… curious.'

'I'm curious?'

'Yes.' She nodded firmly. 'Stay very still. I must examine your injuries.' Harry crooked an eyebrow, as the girl jabbed him in the temple with a stubby finger. 'Ow!'

'You okay?' Harry asked, as the girl sucked on her finger with a look of grumpiness. It faded immediately, and she tapped him on the chin this time. She made noise of thought, and then asked Harry a question.

'Do you have a therr… a thermoe… a… a thing to measure how hot things are?' She asked.

'Thermometer? I'm afraid not.' Harry answered, with an appropriate amount of sorrow. She _humphed_ , and then Harry twisted his head as a new person announced their presence.

'Mia!' A girl yelled, urgently. 'Mia, come here!'

'Bye!' The little girl, who must have been called Mia, hopped to her feet and ran towards the house.

Harry couldn't turn to the right angle to see the new person, while on his back, so he sat up and turned. And found a wand pointed at him.

As has been said, Harry had a very simplistic idea of what was a threat and what was not. Death Eaters were a threat, he had been attacked by them time and again. Dark creatures were a threat, and were much more dangerous than the majority of Death Eaters. Anyone or anything that had dealt in Dark Magic could be a threat. Any light wizard who had been through hell could be a threat, if they believed they or their family were in danger. Muggles could be a threat, if they were armed and suspicious of people like Harry.

Teenage girls in pyjamas, in Harry's experience, were not dangerous no matter how angry they may be. So he felt no panic as the pretty girl, with messy black hair and green eyes that were becoming more and more familiar, in this case with bags under them, pointed her wand at him. He felt the need to avoid making any sudden movements, of course, but no panic.

'Who are you?!' she demanded, and Harry's magical eye examined the girl's features. He _believed_ she was James and Lily Potter's daughter, just like Mia.

So James hadn't told them that he would be coming here. Or told them that he existed, most likely, since there weren't many people who had Harry's basic features.

'You should call for your father,' he told her, holding his hands up in a sign that he posed no threat. Of course, her eye then went to the metal hand that had moved and now had its fingers splayed. The girl's tone was slightly frightened as she yelled without turning.

' _Dad_!' She called, ' _DAD_!'

'Mary, your dad had a late night! Let him get some sl… oh.' Lily Evans looked the way Harry had imagined. Red hair the colour of Mia's, darker than the Weasleys orange, with bright green eyes that he could see from here. Her beauty explained the attractiveness of the girl before him, and the cute little girl that had vanished inside but was now straining to look around Lily. ' _JAMES_!'

Lily Potter's voice was loud enough that Harry winced involuntarily, his wolf ears very sensitive to noise. He was still sitting, and wondered when it would be okay to stand. The girl looked tired, and her judgement might be _off_ with the fatigue. It wasn't worth the risk, even if her spells would be jinxes rather than curses.

It sounded like a relatively heavy man tumbled down a flight of stairs inside, and when James Potter arrived he was clutching his ribs with a pained expression that quickly vanished to be replaced by surprise and, in turn, fear.

'Oh, bollocks,' he said, looking at the wand in his daughter's hand. The messy haired, even more so than usual, man reached slowly over her shoulder and _plucked_ the wand from her with two fingers, 'there's no need for that, sweetie. This is your father's… friend. He's not attacking us, don't worry.'

Lily had her arms crossed now, and was staring at James with a look that promised pain. Wisely, her husband opened with an apology as Harry rose to stand.

'I'm _really_ sorry, Lil, but the message came through in the middle of the night. I was on my way back from work, so telling you would have been… he'd done a runner, so I had to get there as soon as I could or we might've lost him.' Lily's look didn't soften, 'And then we were in a meeting with… I mean, he was telling us his story and if I'd ducked out to send a message I just would have woken you up without having all the information… and when I got home I… you just looked so beautiful asleep like that, and I didn't want to ruin such a picturesque moment. I thought that… I mean when _I_ was his age I would've been in bed until noon, I had no idea he'd be… an early riser… I'm sleeping in one of the spare rooms, right?'

'That depends. Who was _we_ , and who were you in a meeting with?' Lily said, in a cross voice.

'Me and Remus… and Sirius and Dumbledore.' James winced as Lily's eyes narrowed, and he rushed to continue, 'But Sirius was barely coherent! I mean, there's no way he'll remember any of it. With what he was doing, and how long it took him to get there… I'm making it worse, aren't I?'

'You are. Did you not think I might want to be there? You told _Sirius_ , and neglected to send a message to _me_.' Lily glowered.

'It's not like… never mind.'

'No, no, finish your thought! Or should I do it for you?!' James mumbled like a guilty child, and kicked the floor to complete the image. 'You were right, for once, because this _isn't_ the first time you've thought to call Sirius but not your wife. The difference being, this was _important_. It's like Mia's dance recital all over again!'

'I said I was _sorry_.'

'Sorry doesn't change the fact that they all thought you were a gay couple! Sorry doesn't change the fact that none of them know who I am, and ask where your _partner_ is every time we go there!'

Harry found that he was struggling to concentrate on what this world's versions of his parents were saying, with two pairs of eyes identical, excluding the blue surrounding his left, to his own watched him. Both had some semblance of curiosity, but only one also dripped with scorn and suspicion.

'Mum? Dad?' two more voices asked, in eery unison, and Harry groaned inside his head. More people to be shocked by him and join in with the staring. Harry won a bet with himself when he found that both had emerald eyes, too. He wouldn't have guessed at brown hair, but there it was.

'Hello, lovely daughters! Your mum was just telling me that we were going shopping for your school things tomorrow! Isn't that great?!' James' attempts to distract the girls, twins Harry was fairly certain, did nothing but make him look silly as he stood there with an excited expression on his face while they stared past him.

'Umm…' one said.

'... who or what is that?' the other finished.

'Girls!' their mother told them off, 'Don't be so rude!'

'We weren't being rude!' the first twin told her, 'He looks just like Cyborg!'

'Who?' the oldest girl, with black hair, asked them.

'Cyborg! From Teen Titans!'

'Oh… right, that superhero show.' she hadn't taken her eyes off Harry in the time, and now went back to staring with full force.

'There's no need to stare at him, girls,' James chuckled without humour, 'he's harmless. Really.'

'Well that was convincing,' his wife said, sarcastically. 'Girls, this is the boy we've been visiting in St Mungos. Remember, we told you about him?'

They all agreed, but the eldest voiced an objection that Harry, too, had been wondering about.

'And you didn't think to mention that he's not human?'

'He _is_ human!' Lily insisted.

'He doesn't look it!' Mia chirped.

'Girls! Just because he looks different doesn't mean you can treat him differently!' James told them, in a voice that almost sounded serious.

'We aren't!' the eldest, who's name Harry still hadn't caught, told him, 'We're treating him differently because he was asleep on the lawn!'

'Well if that's his… choice, then that's his choice! He's staying with us and has the right to sleep outside if he wants to!'

'Why on earth would a robot want to sleep outside?' one of the twin girls asked.

'He's not a robot!' their older sister exclaimed.

'Well what is he, then?' the other asked.

'He's human!' James exclaimed, seeming exasperated with his hands thrown into the air.

'Humans don't sleep outside!'

'It's called camping, brat!' the eldest told the twin who had spoken. They all looked quite similar, and Harry was having trouble keeping track of where words were coming from.

'He doesn't have a tent, fatty!' the twin who hadn't spoken yelled. Harry wondered at the nickname. For all he knew the twin _could_ be a brat- it was a descriptionn of personality- but the older girl looked a healthy weight to him.

At least four sets of eyes weren't on Harry any more. Only Lily and Mia still looked at Harry, and the little girl only seemed to be doing so because she liked leaning against her mother's leg. Harry wondered why Lily was looking at him, and what the expression was, exactly, to wrinkle her brow like that as she stared at him.

'Hey!' James exclaimed, as his daughter's wand was snatched out of his hand. He twisted around in search of the culprit, but the twin girls had already run into the house, their older sister hot on their heels. 'Don't break anything a _reparo_ can't fix!' he called after them.

Lily subsequently detached her youngest child, at least that Harry had seen, and strode across the grass. The war-torn young wizard felt the urge to step back, lest he get shouted at too, and it must have shown as the woman smiled sweetly at him. Mia, too, looked happy as her father scooped her up and waited by the door.

'My name is Lily,' she smiled at him, 'if you aren't too sick of our family's energy, you're welcome to join us for breakfast.'

Harry gave his closest approximation of a smile, and nodded. As Lily accompanied him back inside, she asked him a question that Harry was unsure how he should answer.

'So, what did my husband tell you of our family?'

'That… he loves you all very much.' Harry half-lied. Lily caught the fib, and Harry corrected himself. 'Well, it was implied.'

'Yes. He does often _imply_ things, instead of actually saying them. He implies that our children have important milestones upcoming, for example. But he's always very explicit when talking to Sirius, because Merlin forbid _Padfoot_ miss one of our family occasions.'

'Padfoot isn't at _every_ family occasion!'

'No, no, you're right. Just the _important_ ones.' Harry saw a smirk on Lily's lips while she was saying this, as James tried his hardest to defend himself.

They continued the conversation as Harry and Mia took their seats at the breakfast table, with Mia regaling him with a story about her illustrious medical career that Harry had a _feeling_ was made up. She was midway through telling him about the time she removed a pair of antlers that had been growing out of a man's _bottom_ , she had giggled at the word, when the rest of her family sat down at the table. She had started again, so that they could follow along, and they had all feigned interest as the six-year-old painted an exciting picture of her fantasy. Lily and James both seemed happy that she was so excited to become a Healer, and offered soft encouragements to Mia every once in awhile.

Harry hadn't heard the conversation the two had, but they had been gone for some time. He suspected, therefore, that James had filled his wife in on what had been discovered and discussed the night before. Plus, there was the fact that Lily was shooting him disbelieving looks in between praising Mia's tale.

Eventually the story ended, when pancakes were placed before the girl, and conversation died down for a time as those around the table tucked into the hearty servings. Harry took his time, unused to eating cooked food that wasn't seared meat or boiled vegetables, and found himself savouring the taste. They had been cooked by utensils that had been moving by magic, and he had no idea whether the making had been especially skilled, but these _pan_ cakes were, by far, the greatest thing he had ever tasted.

He expressed as much when finished, though without the enthusiasm he felt it deserved, and Lily laughed softly.

'If you like of my cooking, just wait until you reach Hogwarts. The House Elves put even the best restaurants to shame.' she said, with a soft smile.

Harry asked, confused, 'I'm going to Hogwarts?'

James made a noise, and opened his mouth to say something before snapping it shut with an audible _click_ as Lily looked at him with the same glare from earlier.

'Another thing you forgot to mention?' she asked.

'It must have slipped my mind…' he nodded repeatedly, with a strained smile.

'What year will he be starting in, mum?' the oldest daughter asked, looking from Harry to Lily and back again.

'Dumbledore didn't say anything to me.' James shrugged, when Lily asked the same question to him. All interested parties, which was everyone except Mia who was eating some more pancakes, looked at Harry for an answer.

'I didn't know I was going.'

'Well, what age are you?' Lily asked.

'I don't know,' Harry said, apologetic as he could, with a shrug.

'You don't know how old you are?' one twin asked.

'What year were you born in? Or would it be manufactured?' the other queried.

'What date?' the first said, again.

'I don't know that, either.' he told them.

'How can you not know what year you were born in?' the oldest daughter asked, with a confused frown.

Harry shook his head before responding, 'I had more important things on my mind.'

'Like what?'

'Harry, come on. They'll be able to tell how old you are at the Ministry, and you need to get progressed anyway. Better to do it now than let them get in a huff.' James said, suddenly, and stood up.

Harry followed his lead, and they left the Potter residence a few minutes later with the sound of a _pop_ of Apparition. They left Lily to answer many questions, her daughters fueled by her husband's evasion of the last question, and, while she would do an exceptional job of telling half-truths and white lies, the girls would all have reached a conclusion of their own about Harry. Amaryllis, the oldest of the Potter daughters, would be brought closer to the truth when her best friend came over later that day, in preparation for the Quiddich World Cup.

Harry Potter was sixteen years old as of July the 31st; the same date as Amaryllis, James had commented. After that, he had explained to Harry that was the name of his eldest daughter, remembering that he hadn't introduced his family. The twins were called Penny, with shorter hair, and Paige, with longer, Harry caught something about Lily not letting him name a child Slagathor as James muttered it under his breath, and Harry knew Mia already, though James felt the need to specify that her full name was _Euphemia_ , after James' mother.

Apparently it was the 18th of August 2003, today. Harry had thought that it was before that year, but shrugged it off; he didn't even know when he had been born, let alone the current date. When the past had been discussed, in his experience, it was more about events than dates. He could have formed an incorrect opinion somewhere down the road easily enough. Or maybe this world was ten years, or so, ahead of his.

The Ministry processed him eventually, Harry only having to sit in a room for six hours while some sour-faced worker scribbled through forms tutting and _tsk_ ing every few minutes. As Harry grew more and more restless, he began watching the room's window, facing a busy corridor. He stopped, though, when Arthur Weasley strolled past after only a few minutes of Harry's observation.

Others would be in the building who Harry had seen die. He had no desire to try and overcome the twisting feeling that came with every glimpse of them. That Sirius and Remus were back was strange enough; he could ignore it with just the two, though, as though he had been mistaken about the permanence of their demise. Harry knew that the events of his world were entirely different to this one… but he had no desire to attempt to wrap his head around that fact. Not yet, not until he was convinced that he had not simply gone insane.

The only thing that kept Harry from fidgeting and, eventually, screaming, was the box of newspapers that has been shoved at him when he asked what he was meant to do while sitting here. He had been reluctant to read them, having heard little-to-nothing good about the journalism of Wizards, but it was better than the alternative of just staring into space. Maybe he could actually discover something interesting about this world that, so far, seemed very… monotonous.

'You done, Samson?' asked James, when he eventually returned in search of Harry. He had left Harry to begin the process nearly eight hours ago, this section beginning after two hours of questions about his history of illness both mental and physical from a kind-faced Healer, in order to catch up on work. That was what James had told Harry, at least.

'He can leave,' the worker, still buried in paper, gave as a response. Harry quickly did, pushing past James and striding down the hall to avoid someone or something pulling him back into the mind-numbingly boring room. He heard James hurry to follow, and found the elevators, through luck far more than anything else, at the end of the corridor.

When James caught up with him, Harry was already inside the box and repeatedly pressing the _Atrium_ button. The Potter Patriarch squeezed through closing doors, and stood in awkward silence as Harry stared at the buttons as light ticked over each one.

Eventually, James grew impatient and tried to start a conversation, 'So, did everything go okay?'

'Yes.' Harry answered. Everything had gone smoothly, it had just been a dragging process.

'Oh, good. Well… are you looking forward to attending Hogwarts?' James tried to fill the gap that Harry left open.

'Not especially.'

'Oh? Why not?'

Harry glanced at the man, his magical eye mirroring the movements of the unchanged eye in his right socket. 'Why would I be?'

'Because Hogwarts is great!' James exclaimed, horrified that Harry would even ask, 'Quiddich, pranks, food, friends, Peeves, Nick, Hagrid, the Forest, the Kitchens, even classes are fun sometimes! Although I hear with Snivel-Snape teaching potions that class sucks. And _this_ year, too! Don't say anything to the girls, but this year is going to be something special! I mean I _envy_ you being there, even if you can't compete! I might be able to get to the challenges, but you'll be there _throughout_ it!'

Harry didn't understand what was being said, but it sounded as though it was a secret.

'The World Cup and _this_ in the same year… it's going to be epic, I guarantee.' James' grin was slightly strained, and Harry wondered why.

'Everything okay?'

'Yeah! Yeah, of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?'

'You look like you just swallowed a spider.'

'How did you-' James begun to demand, and then made an _oh_ face, 'you said _swallow_ a spider, didn't you. Not _get_ swallowed by a spider?'

'You've been swallowed by a spider?' Harry asked. Interesting. He'd encountered spiders big enough to swallow him, but they'd been scared off when he set one of their number on fire. He'd never ventured back into the forests near Hogwarts after that, thinking that he heard a voice from the largest, an immobile arachnid, saying that he'd made lifelong enemies of their kind.

'Not… me.'

'Who, then?' Harry asked. James looked reluctant to respond, and Harry wondered who he could have been talking about. The obvious choice was one of his friends, if they were as close-knit in this world as Harry's. Harry wondered which of them would have encountered the arachnids, and remembered Remus telling him that he had once gotten into the forest in wolf form, and that he had killed several giant spiders before losing interest. Maybe they remembered him and had attacked him in human form.

'... Mary.' a shortened version of Amaryllis, which made sense considering the oddness of that name for a child; the same had been done with Euphemia. Harry raised his eyebrows.

'She was swallowed by a spider? How did that happen?'

'Oh, she wasn't _swallowed_ by a spider, but one of them did come quite close. If she hadn't hit it with a… in second year, she went into the Forest because she thought Hagrid's pet spider- yeah, they're Hagrid's- would be able to tell her how to save her friend. _Alone,_ at that. Too fearless for her own good, that one.' James shook his head, and Harry wondered if, maybe, he should have been more concerned about the girl when she was pointing her wand at him.

'And you looked ill because your daughter has a habit of doing things like that?' he asked, curious.

'Yeah, she definitely does. Like last year- she saw a Death Eater's name on our map and, instead of telling Dumbledore or calling me on the mirror, went off to try and catch him herself, with just her friends along for the ride! Yeah, he's a pathetic little- but that doesn't mean three underage witches stand a chance against him! If Sni-Snape hadn't been there, I don't know _what_ would have happened. And I'm sure as hell not happy that it was _him_ that rescued them, either!'

Harry said, 'So that's why you looked ill? Because you think she might get herself in danger again this year?' as he wondered who this SniSnape was, and why he seemed to come up quite often in the Potter's conversations.

'I'd be _more_ worried if there wasn't an age-restriction. I'm sure she'd get selected if she was an option, and Lily and I would be… nerve racked if that happened.' James shook his head, and then changed the subject, 'But we were talking about something else before this, right? What was… oh! The World Cup, and my good news!'

'Your good news?'

'Yeah, I did have an extra ticket, like I thought! So you can come, isn't that great?' the man was grinning, as he asked, at Harry. Harry's less-than-enthused expression prompted James to continue with the smile fading. 'What, you don't like Quidditch?'

Harry shrugged his shoulders, 'I've heard good things about it, but it stopped being played when I was a baby. I've never seen it myself.'

James reeled back, horrified, and Harry stared at the man with anxiety as he placed a hand over his heart. As though the thought of Harry never having watched or played Quidditch was going to kill him.

As they walked through the Atrium, James' shocked expression drew nearly as many looks as Harry's silver, and the man did not stop until it was time for them to Apparate back to the Potter residence.

'Have you been drinking? Let me smell your breath.' Amaryllis pulled at her best friend's chin, trying to smell the alcohol that had recently been in Hermione's gullet.

'Get off!' Hermione laughed, shoving Amaryllis off. The girl-who-lived laughed with her, falling back onto her bed, and didn't stop as Hermione answered her, believing her friend to be joking. 'And no, I haven't been drinking. It really is a possibility!'

'No it's not! That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!'

'No it isn't! Just because you don't understand something doesn't mean it's dumb!'

'You're absolutely right,' Amaryllis kept a straight face as she said the words, 'what makes it dumb is that it's _dumb_!'

'Shut up!' Hermione glared at her friend, playfully.

'Make me, bookworm!'

'Don't think I won't, scarface!'

'Teacher's pet!'

'Glory-seeker!'

'Mudblood!'

'Blood Traitor!'

'Slut!'

'Whore!'

'Bitch!'

'Dyke!'

'Hey! You take that back!'

'You started it!'

'I did not!'

'You did too!'

'You told me to shut up!'

'You called me dumb!'

'I didn't call you dumb! I said your idea was dumb! There's a difference!'

'No there isn't! You can't have a dumb idea if you're not dumb!'

'You can too!'

'You can not!'

'Can!'

'Can't!'

'Well, what about when Flitwick asked the Weasley Twins to demonstrate how they did that locomotive spell?! He's not dumb, but he failed to see what they were obviously going to use to demonstrate!'

Hermione giggled again, something she never would have done if the Weasleys had actually been there. It would have ruined her reputation as a serious girl who _always_ abided by the rules, never missed homework and would not have _dared_ associate with hooligans.

'See?! I win.' Amaryllis smirked triumphantly, from her place still lying on the bed.

'You do not! Flitwick floating around the corridors until he could figure out the counter-charm has nothing to do with science!'

'You mean science-fiction!'

'No I don't! Stop acting like you know the first thing about science!'

'I do _too_ know the first thing about science!'

'Prove it!'

'Gravity! The Earth revolves around the sun and the stars just look like they're moving because the Earth spins! Water has the chemical formula of H2O!'

'Okay, you're right. You know the _first_ thing about science. But not the second or third or whatever number _this_ is! It's a complicated theory that's believed by virtually _every_ scientist. Or, at the very least, isn't _dis_ believed by them!'

'And I don't believe you! No way is he some kind of dimension traveller, that only happens in movies and books!'

'Name _one_ movie about dimension travel!'

'Bill and Ted's excellent adventure!' Amaryllis stuck her tongue out at Hermione.

'That's about time travel! So put that thing back in you mouth unless you intend to use it!' She puckered her lips in a kissing motion, and Amaryllis wiggled her tongue before speaking with it still sticking out.

'Amb wath thud I yooth it thor?'

Both giggled again, as Hermione flicked the wriggling digit. 'And you say you're not a dyke.'

'I'm not!'

'Keep telling yourself that.'

'Why are you calling _me_ a dyke when _you_ have your face in my crotch?'

'What are you- hey!'

Hermione squirmed, as Amaryllis tackled her back onto the bed and mounted her best friend, climbing up Hermione's body to sit on the other girl's face. Had she not been wearing trousers, the intention would have been quite different to their teasing games.

'C'mon, 'Mione! You've gotta do better than that if you want to keep a girl _interested_.' Amaryllis purred, as her friend pushed against her bum, trying to shift her off Hermione's face.

'Unlike you,' Hermione's voice, muffled, exclaimed into Amaryllis' crotch, 'I don't _want_ to keep a girl interested!'

'How d'you know, if you've never even _tried_ it?' Amaryllis asked, pretending to grind her clothed crotch onto Hermione's face.

Hermione slipped out, the motions freeing her head from its prison, and tackled her friend right back, Amaryllis' queen sized bed just about big enough for them to wrestle atop. At the end, Amaryllis was on top, pinning her less-sporty friend with both arms.

'Don't you dare try and have your way with me, lesbian.' Hermione said, in a jokingly-warning tone.

'And how do you intend to stop me?' Amaryllis smirked down at her friend.

'I'll scream for your mum.' Hermione warned, with her own lips quirking upwards.

'That's no threat. She'd probably just want to join in.' Amaryllis said, and her straight face broke a moment later as she fell into a fit of giggles on top of Hermione.

'Hey! Geroff me!' Hermione complained, with Amaryllis lying on her.

'Maybe, in some other _dimension_ , there's a Hermione who isn't such a homophobe.' the Potter girl sighed, rolling off Hermione.

'Theoretically, there's an infinite number of Hermiones. So, in a few of them, there's a Hermione who's, at this very moment, pinning you down and fucking her with her strapon.' Hermione said, in her _serious_ voice, as the two lay side-by-side staring at the ceiling.

'Oh, you know just how to get a girl's motor running, don't ya?' Amaryllis purred to her friend. Again, they laughed, and then Amaryllis asked a question that was almost serious, 'D'you honestly think that he's from some different universe?'

'He could be,' Hermione shrugged, Amaryllis felt a shoulder move on the bed next to her, 'it's really widely believed that there are other realities. You see, while our universe is expanding more and more rapidly with each second, space is infinite outside of it. So there are billions and billions of other universes- other realities out there that differ from ours in some way. In many, we won't even exist as we know ourselves, but in others there are differences so minute that it would take you a lifetime to even discern what they are.'

'Differences like the one with Strapon Hermione.'

'Like that,' Hermione said, with a smirk in her voice, 'but it sounds like the one he comes from diverges quite dramatically from ours.'

'Look, I don't _know_ if I'm right. It just seemed like they were hiding something and my mom's lies are kind of see through…'

'Yes, yes, and you think that, with the way he looks, it must have been a war.'

This time, it was Amaryllis' turn to shrug, not knowing what to say. She'd told Hermione that that was what it looked like, but she hadn't considered the fact that this Harry person had _actually_ been in a war.

'Maybe we should just ask him,' Hermione suggested, as the sound of a door closing downstairs came from downstairs, 'it would mean we don't have to just speculate.'

'I really don't think that's a good idea…'

'Oh? Is someone afraid of the new boy?' Hermione asked, her voice full of cheek. Amaryllis bristled at that.

'Not a chance,' she said, and found herself standing up, 'I just thought he might be uncomfortable with that topic. But if I need to prove something, then let's go do it.'

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but by the time the words formed on her lips Amaryllis had stormed out of her bedroom with determination. 'I didn't mean… now…'

Harry had never given clothing much thought, before now. When he was cold, he would search out a jumper or jacket and when going through brambles and bushes he needed trousers and boots but, more often than not, he made do with animal skins fashioned into something vaguely resembling human clothes. Even then, Harry hardly cared about clothing without extreme weather conditions, and only wore them on the off chance that he came across some people who would react badly to a naked teenage boy. Plus, back when others were with him, they preferred that he act with modesty.

Now, though, he had the need of clothes for the sake of fitting in. The more of his body that was on display, even ignoring this civilisation's dislike of nakedness, the more silver could be seen by those around.

But he didn't know how to sew. That meant Harry would have to _buy_ clothes, probably several changes if he was to attend Hogwarts. To _buy_ things, he would need money.

How did people get money when they were attending school? He couldn't get a job at the same time, unless they offered work in the castle, and stealing would be looked down upon.

The matter was tricky, and made all the more pressing by Harry's need for a wand. The magic he could use without one was very limited, after all, and there was no shortage of the mediums in this world. He wouldn't put it off for any longer than he had to. Harry would inquire, at the local wand-seller, about a way to work for one. After that, he might be able to use magic as a way to make clothes of a higher quality than the flimsy conjured scrubs he currently was making do with.

But, to do so, Harry would need knowledge he didn't currently have. He had never needed to make anything beyond the crudest of clothes and instruments, and spellcrafting was not something he knew much about. What people called wartime spells were not crafted during battle, but by old men at comfortable desks who had been told what the young men fighting and dying needed to be able to do.

Knowledge meant books. Books would have to be purchased. That meant he needed money, once again, unless Harry was willing to just take what he needed. It would be a bad idea to steal from shops, though, because security in magical shops just required a couple of charms that Harry would need to cast counter charms aloud in order to break. Saying them aloud would alert the shop owner of what he was doing.

So, no. Harry couldn't steal items, and he'd already established that stealing money would be at least as bad an idea.

Unless…

'Harry!' a girl interrupted his thoughts, stomping down the stairs as though they had done something to offend her. Or maybe Harry had annoyed the girl with the strange name.

Amaryllis stopped in front of him, with her arms crossed and some measure of amusement in her eyes. 'Harry, my friend has a theory about where you came from,' she said, piquing Harry's interest.

'Mary!' another girl, with brown hair that was… large, called from the staircase.

'That's Hermione. She wants me to ask you something.' Amaryllis paused, and Harry guessed she was asking permission to ask.

He nodded, and the girl voiced her question, 'Do you come from an alternate universe?' she asked, with a smirk.

'It seems that I do, yes.' Harry nodded, answering the question.

'Ha, I tol- wait, what?' she looked at him dumbly, and Harry started as her friend made a very loud noise, now at the bottom of the stairs.

'HA!' she didn't seem to notice Harry wincing in quite a large movement, as she yelled at her friend, 'Now who's the idiot?!'

'Oh, please!' Amaryllis replied, with a snort of derision that sounded fake, 'You put him up to giving that answer! Like I'm just going to _believe_ him because he says it!'

Harry heard footsteps nearing them, as the two continued to yell back and forth. Neither sounded angry, though; friends often fought jokingly. He was fairly confident that that was what was happening here.

'We've already established that it's _possible_ , if he says it is what's happening then it's obviously true! And how would I have put him up to it?! This is the first time we've met and you haven't even bothered to introduce me!'

'Hermione, this is Harry, the bloke who was sleeping on our lawn this morning! Harry, this is Hermione, she's Hogwarts resident bookworm and seems to believe you're some kind of alien from another world!'

'A pleasure to-' Harry tried to be polite, and was cut off by the girl. He was surprised that Hermione had not seemed shocked in the slightest by his appearance.

'I didn't say he was an alien! He comes from Earth, just not _this_ Earth!'

'Careful, 'Mione! If you don't watch your step he might decide to pro-'

'Girls!' Lily Potter came through the door with a pair of light brown slippers in her hand, and Harry wondered if she intended to hit her daughter and friend with the soft shoes, 'What are you yelling about?!' she, too, yelled.

Harry brushed a bug off his right shoulder that he hadn't noticed before, absentmindedly, and continued to watch the exchange.

'Mom! Good, you're here! Is Harry from another _universe_!?' Amaryllis demanded, and Lily came up short with a surprised expression. She glanced at Harry with an odd expression, as though asking permission to do something, before answering in an uncertain voice.

'W-What would make you think that?'

'Besides Hermione insisting that it somehow makes sense because _science_ , Harry decided to back her up!'

'Oh, _Harry_ told you? Then yes, sweetie, he is. But don't just go around blurting it out, we don't want it getting out before we can decide how to proceed.' Lily smiled at her daughter, and the smile faded as Amaryllis turned red and her mouth opened and closed like a confused cod. She looked shocked and horrified and almost angry. But, when she spoke, her verbalisation did nothing to reflect any of that emotion.

'Okay…' she said, her voice meek rather than stressed.

James yelled, from somewhere, that tea was ready and Harry followed the others down the corridor towards the dining room.

'Told you,' Hermione whispered to Amaryllis.

'Shut it,' was the reply she received, along with the Potter girl sticking out her tongue.

Harry ate slowly, the chicken and mashed potatoes being seasoned with spices as well as accompanied by vegetables and stuffing. All in all, the flavoured meats and veg were nearly as strange as eating pancakes and the liquid sugar that had been poured over them. The conversation revolved around the upcoming quidditch game, primarily, and only Hermione and Lily did not seem to share the rest of their enthusiasm for the subject. But both seemed happy to listen to the excitement in the family's voices raving about Ireland's team and the Bulgarian Seeker.

Harry only payed enough attention for the various voices to lull him into an unthinking state, not far from meditation, and almost missed his name being said as a result.

'-treat him?'

'Like he's your… cousin, I suppose. One you didn't know you had until now, when James discovered him in an orphanage.' Lily said, her voice gaining a certain sureness at the end of the thought.

'Why wouldn't we have known him until now?'

'We could say he's from a branch of the Potter family who fell out of the main body's good graces a long time ago.'

'And looks almost exactly the same as me, but with your eyes?'

'I don't think people will buy that.' Penny objected.

'We aren't very good liars.' Paige agreed.

Lily pursed her lips, and didn't give any response until prompted by James.

'Well… how about we say that we adopted him?'

'No, no, that wouldn't work. The Ministry would have had to file the papers for that to happen.' Lily replied.

'Then I can get them to file the papers. Everyone will just assume he was blood adopted, once they saw his features.' James suggested.

'He's been seen in the Ministry today, though. Someone would be bound to notice that the papers said he was adopted _after_ the day they saw him looking like you.' Lily shook her head, shooting down the idea.

'I could slip the papers in amongst the ones they filed yesterday,' James offered, 'or I could just say I forgot about those papers today; I do have a reputation for forgetting about paperwork, although that's mainly 'cause I work with Padfoot… still, they'd buy it.'

'And what about the ritual? Are they meant to buy that we just did it ourselves? There are two people who could do that ritual in England, and one of them's an Unspeakable.'

Unspeakables… Harry remembered tell of them. He remembered seeing the destruction they'd wrought with his own eyes. Of smelling the burnt air with his own ultra-sensitive nose. They had replaced the air with dragonfire when it became clear that the Ministry had fallen, and taken hundreds of Riddle's followers with them to the grave. Almost taken Bellatrix, but she'd escaped when she saw one of those known to her looking utterly terrified and had gotten antsy.

'Dumbledore would back us if we told that story.'

'You know Fudge has been looking for an excuse to ostracise Dumbledore for years, performing a blood ritual without permission, even one that's as an adoption, is illegal.'

'We should have thought about this before I took him to the Ministry,' James sighed, 'I'm surprised Dumbledore didn't mention it yesterday… I guess he overlooked it, too.'

'We definitely should have.' Lily agreed. Harry swallowed the chicken he was currently chewing, and asked a question.

'What happens if you just don't say where I've come from?' he asked, 'Could they penalise you for that?'

'No, not after you've been registered with the Ministry. You can't lie on the forms, and one of the ones you signed stated you were born in Britain, so they couldn't even deport you.' James told him, presumably familiar with the law thanks to his job as an Auror.

'So why are you so determined to find an excuse for my sudden arrival? Surely you could just avoid talking about it?' Harry reasoned.

'We could, we were just thinking it would be unfair to you,' James said, in answer, with a slight dip in his brow, 'if you've just sprang into being, then people won't trust you.'

Harry blinked, raised his right eyebrow, and asked, 'And you're concerned about me fitting in?' he asked, with a slight smile at the thought. Harry gestured the left side of his jaw, made entirely of silver, 'You could have an entire... detailed story of my life that painted me as a saint, but it wouldn't make much difference in that matter.'

It was Hermione who spoke next, 'A Biography,' she said, filling in the gap that Harry had had in his vocabulary. Harry nodded.

'That's the word.'

James was eyeing the indicated section of Harry's face with a frown, recalling what Harry had told him the night before.

'You said Glamours don't disguise it, didn't you?' he asked.

Harry nodded, 'Glamours, Polyjuice Potion, Transfiguration. None of it does anything but mess with the rest of my face so that it all looks disproportionate.' Lily and Hermione were both looking at him with speculative looks, mirrored ineffectively by Mia, and it was Lily who asked for an explanation. Harry gave some thought to the inquiry before answering as his throat gave a slight burn, 'The metal doesn't change for external forces, it maintains the same basic form. That means that if, for example, I used Polyjuice to change into Hermione, it would be Hermione with half my jaw, a metal hand far too big for her, and one leg longer than the other.'

'Hm,' again, both had looks of interest, and again Lily was the one who asked, 'I was under the impression, though, that you gained some of the injuries years ago. Surely you've grown since then?' She made a good point. Harry was well muscular and tall, and it had been years since he got the first scar.

'And the metal grew with me,' Harry said.

'How?' Hermione asked.

'I don't know.' Harry said, 'The ritual that was used wasn't well documented; from what I could tell only the original creator had ever attempted to use it before me. It was a miracle that we managed to decipher all the steps and that R- one of our number managed to stabilize it a little more.'

'Why was that a miracle?' Hermione asked.

'Well, it was poorly recorded,' Harry decided to answer first, and tried to decide how to say the second part, 'and it ended badly for the first guy who tried it.'

'Badly?'

'Very badly.' Harry said, with no particular inflection. They got the message, though, that he didn't want to say more. That was a good thing.

Had they made the same mistake, whatever it was, as the first man, Harry's body would have gone into overdrive. As every cell died and was replaced, he would have been transformed entirely into metal. His body would respond badly, and fight back against it with everything he had instead of embracing the new substance as it had. If it had been the same as the inventor, his body would have lost to the attacking force and he would have become an unliving statue.

'Then… why did you try?' Amaryllis was frowning at him now.

Harry's right hand twitched towards his left hip, and he resisted the temptation to touch the first segment of his body to be lost. A dark blasting curse had caught him there, and there had been no solution that didn't demand sacrifice on his part. In this case an excruciating amount of pain, and substituting flesh for metal. The smooth material had taken weeks to grow, in that case, and the process was one of the most unpleasant memories Harry had. Not the most, but it was on the list.

'I wouldn't have survived had we not,' Harry told her, 'and if I had I would have been crippled, and would have stood even less chance of… victory.' It was difficult not to spit the last word.

'VIctory against who?'

As Harry opened his mouth to reply, he caught a slight movement from James in the corner of his eye. It was only slight, but he was shaking his head, and Harry wondered why that would. Then it occurred to him; she was the girl who lived, a counterpart to the label that had convinced everyone he was the chosen saviour. If… _when_ she found out that he had been fighting a battle she no doubt feared having to fight, Amaryllis would be frightened.

'Some Dark Wizards. My world went to sh-hell, and I stupidly tried to fight back.' he gave a slightly bitter smile, 'Repeatedly.'

'What does that mean?' Mia asked him, 'That it went to shell?'

'It… society collapsed when people started throwing shells at each other.' Harry did his best to smile at her, the expression feeling strange on his face, and the girl nodded, adding it to her list of general trivia.

The conversation was more subdued from that point on, and Harry's offer to help tidy up after dinner was rejected. Following which, he was strong armed into a game of Quidditch. For the first time he could remember, Harry Potter was in the sky and, he had to admit, it was incredible.

He had some kind of natural talent for the game they were playing, and the four people playing with him all made some kind of comment on the fact. Apparently Amaryllis was the seeker on the team and James had, at one point, been a star chaser. Though the twins hoped to get on the team, they would not be allowed since, at thirteen, they were only entering their first year and would have to wait until second. Harry struggled to know why, and wondered if it might be so that those who came from magical families had an advantage of being far more experienced than their muggleborn counterparts. James seemed convinced that he would be in Gryffindor, though Harry could not discern why, and knew that the Keeper's position would be open next year. Somehow it was decided that Harry would try out for it, though the boy in question was not involved in the discussion. Instead, he stayed quiet; Harry barely understood what was happening, but hardly minded that they were trying to make an effort to reach out to him through flying. Even if he didn't have any particular drive to play a game, a broom was something he added to the list of things he would buy when money was less of an issue.

Some deep part of him seemed to belong in the sky, and embraced the freedom that came with the feeling of flight.

Four hours later, after yet another heated conversation about the upcoming World Cup final, Harry was lying on top of a bed in what he had been told was his room. He didn't sleep deeply enough to dream, when unconscious he was helpless and Harry had well learned the lesson that it was a poor state in which to be, and so the night should have passed by in what felt like the blink of an eye.

It didn't though. Harry couldn't drown out the sounds in the rest of the house completely, the sounds of humans were strange to him, and so he stared at the ceiling as Amaryllis' fearful mutterings filled his ears.


	5. Wands and Wandless

August 19th 2003

Harry did not seem to have a choice but to eat with the Potter family. When he had tried to duck out, feeling that he had intruded enough over the past day, Lily had ordered him to take a seat. He had found himself sitting before he could consider disobeying, and they were soon joined by her family members for a cooked breakfast of bacon, sausage, beans, toast, egg, mushrooms and tomatoes.

The meal passed by with meaningless conversation, other than a brief mention that they, including Harry, would be leaving for the Cup tomorrow because James would be helping check the wards around the campsite's parameters.

'Oh, and Sirius and the others will be here tomorrow.' James said, and then smiled at Harry, 'Hopefully he won't be quite as drunk as the last time you saw him.'

'Can Uncle Moony make it, or did they decide to stay home?'

'They're staying. Alex's too pregnant to make the trip, let alone watch the game, and Remus insists that he's staying too, if that's case. I suppose Shannon would be coming if she was a little older, but not this time.'

Harry would realise, roughly a day later, that he should have wondered who else Sirius would have been bringing. At the time, he had simply assumed that the man would have a family, too.

When they were done, Harry took a pinch of powder at Lily's instruction and stepped into the fire. _Diagon Alley_.

Harry tumbled out of the fireplace without grace, and groaned as someone nearby chuckled heartily at his fall. He found satisfaction, a moment later, when the man recoiled out of fright as Harry looked his way.

When he had regained his bearings, the young wizard asked the Leaky Cauldron's bar man how to get to the alley, and the toothless man gave him clear and concise instructions after getting over Harry's surprising visage.

Harry tapped a series of bricks in turn, and the wall in front of him opened into an archway.

A few minutes later, a red-haired woman stepped out of the fireplace, to be joined by her twin daughters, and was confused to find that Harry was not present. Lily asked the barman if he had come through, wondering if the Flooing had gone wrong somehow, and quickly got an answer with only the mention of a metal-faced boy.

She wondered why he had gone off on his own, as they trio of females quickly went into the alley. They had gotten the twins' things weeks ago, but James had told them, in a panic the day before, that they were returning and Lily had decided to buy some animals for her daughters. And only part of the reason was because James had vetoed anything other than owls last time they had been there. He had doomed her to another day of shopping with the twins, so she would stick him with a cat or two. Maybe a rat, too; James had a thing about slimy animals.

She would get a snake, another creature that "gave him the heebie-jeebies," but Mary got nerve-wracked whenever they spoke to her. She didn't like her Parseltongue, because they had always raised her to be normal and it just highlighted the fact that she was not. It was bad enough that, when in public, she had to put up with the staring.

Lily huffed to herself at the thought, before taking both her daughters' hand, they had a tendency to go tearing off after the first interesting thing they saw, and softly leading the pair out into the Alley. If Harry had gone ahead, Lily was sure she would see him soon. She had the money he would use to buy his supplies, after all, and there was no way she or any of her daughters would tolerate him wearing the cheap and rubbish clothes he was walking around in for a moment longer than was necessary.

She wondered whether James had actually told Harry that that would be the arrangement, and then paused in thought. Come to think of it, _she_ hadn't even told Harry that he would be accompanied by her and the twins, just assuming he knew when he'd half-asked half-told her that he would be going to DIagon Alley today.

Maybe they should find him first, in that case.

As though reading her thoughts, Paige asked, 'Where are we going first, mum?'

'We'll need to find Harry, I think,' Lily replied, while looking around at the various shops.

Harry didn't seem like the type to go to the ice cream parlour first. He gave the impression of being as mature as her, by definition being leaps and bounds ahead of James in that department and more like stories of muggle buildings above SIrius, and while Mary and Hermione both loved Florean Fortescue's it might be more of a girl's craving. She knew the stereotype of girls using an ice cream for emotional problems, and couldn't say it was _un_ true. Lily _had_ used it as a crutch before.

Maybe he had gone to the junk shop… no, he had no money to spend and nothing to give them. Lily loved the shop, personally, even though the owners weren't the nicest of people, because she had made some spectacular finds in the midst of the useless and broken items. She'd go there today, too, because the only way to make those discoveries was to venture into the shop as often as possible and tolerate the times that there was nothing of worth.

Brooms, even second hand, were expensive. Harry would certainly not be able to afford one, and James had decided already that they were getting him one for christmas. Not a Firebolt, as Sirius had bought for Amaryllis after a particularly cruel prank, though James had to be talked down while raving about Harry's potential on such a broom, but one of the high-end models.

Sweets and tea, Lily similarly dismissed. She didn't know if Harry shared her husband's aversion to the drink, but even Lily hated the shops devoted to the drink. Rosa Lea's was not on the level of Puddifoot's, but it was a place for middle-aged women who liked to gossip. Confection wouldn't be on the list of priorities for anyone except Mia's age group, with all the wonder to behold in Diagon Alley.

Books, maybe. Harry could read them without purchasing, even if the shop weren't happy about people doing so; Lily suspected that the girl who was on the till last time she was in the shop would not dare tell him to leave. She looked easily frightened, and Harry seemed to frighten everyone he met. Even her eldest daughter, brave as any Gryffindor, had been metaphorically shaking in her boots.

Or Harry might have inherited James' love of pranks. James' genes in that particular area were very strong, and all her daughters had some degree of the love of jokes, even if they didn't have the Marauders' mean streak or ingenuity in the art. Lily frowned, her eyes not moving for a moment, as she realised she had thought of Harry as being James' son. He was their child… no, not theirs; he was the child of some other version of James and Lily Potter, she rectified. But he was a part of their family; they would do all they could to help him, and Lily and James had made the decision to treat him as though he was a relative that had come to their home after tragedy struck, which it had, in a sense, but he had joined them at the age of sixteen and wasn't _their_ son. He was the son of Lily and James Potter, but neither James nor Lily had raised him or developed the paternal bond that they had to their daughters. And he didn't seem to see them as his parents. James told her that Harry had never met his parents, other than when he was too young to remember; that must have been why he could look at them without feeling pain.

They would need to go to the Apothecary at some point, not least because Lily needed to restock and Harry had to get his school supplies, late being far better than never and Lily hadn't known what to get for the boy or whether he would even be awake by the time term started.

'I think he's in Ollivanders,' Penny commented, though she didn't sound happy about it. Neither of the twins had enjoyed wand-shopping at age 11, and both had been more than happy to get away from the strange wand crafter.

'Why do you think that?' Lily asked her daughter, as Paige and her sister began walking her over to the store.

'Everyone's staring at the shop,' Paige answered for her sister, 'and Harry will probably attract stares, being half-machine.' Lily didn't bother correcting her daughter; they both knew that Harry wasn't a robot but also liked the idea of being _related_ to a cyborg. Lily had been happy that they were taking an interest in muggle culture, even if it was through a superhero cartoon, and hoped that the Muggle Studies would be updated before their third year.

The trio of Potter females walked over to the shop, the Alley not being very busy on a friday morning, and opened the door to a strange sight.

This man was not easy to argue with. Harry could hardly understand the difference between what Ollivander said and didn't, and the eyes on the man were even more unnerving than Harry's own.

'How did you know I would be coming here today?' Harry demanded.

Olivander smiled an unsettling smile, 'A little birdy told me,' he said. _That_ was what Harry was talking about. There was some meaning to that sentence beyond what the wand-maker said, but Harry did not know what it was. He guessed that it must have been the "birdy" that was significant, and tried to understand what it was.

'You said something about the core.' Harry half-accused. Ollivander had mumbled something, and Harry didn't know if he was meant to have heard it and hardly had other than the word _three_ standing out to his ears.

'I did.' Ollivander smiled.

'And will you tell me what it was? Or what it meant?'

Ollivander just smiled some more, seeming to enjoy the fact that Harry appreciated the amount of unnecessary mysticism the man put into his words and expressions.

'But the core's a phoenix feather, yes?' Harry asked. Blackthorn and Phoenix 11½ inches, Ollivander had smiled at that, too, when Harry had felt the wand's incredible warmth spread through his body and soul, but in a different way to when he was just being strange. A Phoenix was a bird, and Harry ventured a guess that that must be the "little birdy."

'It is, indeed.' His eyes stared into Harry's, and Harry was reminded that the man had not flinched even slightly upon seeing his silver scars.

'And is that important?' Harry asked, his voice uncertain for that question. Then, it became much more confident as he made a connection, 'Did the phoenix who told you also give the feather?'

'It is difficult to keep track,' Ollivander didn't even attempt to be convincing that time, and Harry called him out on it.

'Of _phoenixes_? How many have you _met_ in the last few months?'

'One.'

'So how, _exactly_ , is it difficult to keep track?' Harry's throat wasn't even bothering him. He was enjoying this, trying to understand what was and wasn't said in equal measures, more than he would have expected. Maybe it had to do with the residual warmth of the new bond; Harry had never had his own wand before and it felt _incredible_ , and he had been told by Ollivander about the characteristic of Blackthorn. It was drawn to warriors.

Ollivander smiled again, and Harry frowned at this before making the obvious connection. He'd only met the one Phoenix since arriving in this world.

'Was it Fawkes?' Harry asked; if the same Phoenix had given the wand as carried some kind of message, then the phoenix and/or its owner must have known of Harry.

Ollivander didn't give an answer, other than his smile growing, and spoke to someone behind Harry as the door behind him opened. 'Lily Evans, 10¾ inches. Willow.' He said, with an air of mysticism. Harry had to admit it was impressive if the man just knew it off the top of his head. Of course, if he'd known Harry was coming it was possible that he deduced she was coming too, even if Harry himself hadn't known. 'Paige Potter, 9½ inches. Spruce. Penny Potter, 11 inches exactly. Sycamore. Each with a hair of a unicorn. The same unicorn. I will expect great things from the pair of you.'

The dimension traveller turned and gave an approximation to a smile to the three Potters who had stepped inside. Neither of the twins looked happy to be in the shop, and Harry could venture a guess as to _why_. But both smiled back at him, if as unconvincingly as Harry's own no doubt had been. Lily also smiled, hers closer to genuine, before speaking.

'How did you expect to pay for the wand if you ran off?' She asked, and Harry opened his mouth to answer that he was going to ask if he could work it off when Ollivander gave a very different response.

'There is no need. Mr Potter's expenses have been paid, to me and the others that you will need to visit today. I happen to know that he will be receiving books that cover the curriculum for the years he missed, and more than a few interesting titles.'

'By whom?' Lily asked, with surprise. Ollivander wasn't going to answer, Harry would bet his non-existent gold that the man would just give a look of knowing and smile.

So, he gave his educated guess, 'Dumbledore.' If Fawkes had given him a feather, it may well have been at Dumbledore's behest. Though Phoenixes were proud creatures… maybe Dumbledore paid at Fawkes' behest. Or maybe it was a combination, so Fawkes could deliver his feather along with Dumbledore's payment.

'Why would Dumbledore pay for your school things? I've heard of Muggleborns being given something like scholarships, but never the Headmaster paying out of his own pocket,' Lily said, with some confusion.

'Maybe as payment for the memories I gave him,' it was likely a factor in the decision, even if Fawkes might have been the deciding factor. The memories would be of interest, and Dumbledore might well want to show Harry that he was friend not foe. Harry had no delusions; powerful as he might be, Dumbledore would mop the floor with him in a wizard's duel, but there were ways to circumvent that in Harry's experience. And hints of that fact were shown in his memories. His silver limbs were advantages in a fight, to the point that it was _almost_ worth the suffering.

'Maybe…' Lily sounded uncertain, and Harry filed that away. Maybe Dumbledore wasn't trustworthy. Maybe he had just upset the Potters at some point. Maybe it was something else. Harry would make up his own mind, but it was good to know that there was another perspective to the virtual worship that most seemed to give the man, and the scorn that was thrown at him by a reporter named Skeeter. Though, Harry was sure the Death Eaters and Dark Wizards must have an unpleasant opinion of the man, also.

'Once I figure out a way to make money, I'll pay him back. But, for today, I feel more comfortable taking ch-money from him than from your family.' Dumbledore seemed to have amassed a fortune, even if one just looked at the amount of money the Ministry had awarded him over the years. Harry also voiced another fact that was very interesting to him, 'And if he's recommended studying other books, I'd hate to miss out on interesting uses of magic.' Harry wondered if they would be combat based, or of a more harmless nature.

'I guess I have to agree with that, at least,' Lily smiled, and Harry could see the interest on her own face. At the very least, she must know that Dumbledore was powerful in all things magical.

Ollivander didn't bother to return the goodbyes, as the four left his shop. Both twins visibly relaxed, and Harry wondered if there was a story there about their visit being especially unpleasant as he twirled the wand in his hand. It was a wondrous feeling, and he could feel the magical medium that was just-about-alive rejoicing between his fingers at the same time. He wondered how much it would affect his spellcasting, as they entered the other stores.

Harry would soon discover a hatred for shopping, as he found that Dumbledore had gone overboard with the number of things he bought for Harry. Why he needed ten changes of regular, if tough, clothes styled similarly to muggle attire, he didn't know. Why he needed seven changes of school robes and uniforms, or why he needed three sets of dress robes, he didn't know. Why each of these needed to be separately measured out and made as he waited, he had no idea. The gloves he received, though, were of a high quality and the cloak felt warm. He disliked the hat, but only because it was pointed and Harry did not understand the benefit of such a style; the wide rims were prone to falling over eyes and anyone wearing such a tall piece of fabric during a fight was just asking for it to be set alight or bewitched to suffocate them.

While Harry appreciated the items, particularly the mountain of books, all seemed unnecessary for the most part. He had the school texts up to fifth year, but surely they would have copies in the school library, and an excruciating amount on top of that going into every subject in ways Harry did not need or want. But they were worth it, particularly with the amount of space in the two-compartment trunk that Dumbledore had bought him, for the rarer tomes and those that would undeniably be useful. Harry leafed through a few, as the store assistant searched out a book he could have sworn was in the order but that he had misplaced in the back, and found some interesting spells. Not all were meant for combat, not all were even spells, but the number that Harry could use in fights were many and it would make his life more interesting in the future now that he had a wand. His wand.

Other than that, he received more potions supplies than he foresaw needing through the year, but it was another skill that he would gladly work on now that he had the time to spend on it. Previously, Harry knew how to brew certain potions as well as he knew how to spell his own name, but that was born of repetition, not understanding or knowledge. The potions books, as well as the rest, would be interesting to read through.

Harry also left the alley with a cauldron, set of scales, and several tempered glass phials sitting inside his trunk.

A few hours later found Harry sitting on a sofa in the front room reading the Standard Book of Spells grade 1 with some interest. The spells would largely be useless in a fight, but there were those he could overpower and, therefore, use to worthwhile effects. He had been warned, though, that practising magic before one turned 17 was a bad idea, and could result in expulsion, fines, or, in the worst-case scenario, disciplinary action from the Department of Law Enforcement. Of course, that would only be if there was serious risk of exposing the Magical world, and Harry's wand wouldn't even be detected in the Potter household, James had whispered, but it was better not to risk it for the sake of making some flowers or water or needles.

Of those in the book, there were a few that did not fall in the category of complex magic. Not because of the effort required, but because of the effects. These spells did not change, create, influence or undo in a way that couldn't be accomplished without magic- they did not change the laws of physics, is how Harry understood it. Harry knew that, in his world and presumably this one, very few wizards attempted to learn anything beyond summoning their wands, because why would they need to? One of his teachers, in the brief time Harry had learned from the scholarly, if weak, old wizard, had told him that they assumed they would always have access to the medium of casting. Harry had seen, even then, that that wasn't the case. He'd seen people be disarmed and fall to an onslaught of spells before they could _think_ of getting their wands back, and had welcomed the chance to prevent such things happening to him. It hadn't always worked, but Harry would have had many more brushes with death, and hard learned lessons, had he not thrown himself into learning whatever he could of wandless magic.

As he apologised to his wand, explaining to the piece of wood why he couldn't use it yet, and hovered the book over his hand, Harry wondered where the shield charms would come in the Standard Book of Spells series. Surely they must have learned them by 16, he thought to himself. But, then, he didn't know how far they could have progressed in the non-intensive three years they'd been learning.

It obviously made sense to have a period where Muggleborns could grow to understand the world and the theory behind the different branches of magic, but until he saw the pace at which Hogwarts went, there was no way Harry could know if he was ahead of his peers in all subjects, or just in the way of fighting and the more obscure branches of magic that had saved him over the course of his life.

When he was done with the first, his magical eye whizzing over the words and branding their lessons into his brain, Harry moved through the series. By the time the other joined him, and watched one of his eyes dart to and fro while the other just stared ahead, with interest, Harry was on the third book and had found _Protego_. He found some interesting charms in there, especially, and wondered whether they altered to be of greater use in fights, his key thought being that they would confound his enemies in a more controlled way than the more powerful charm. This brought him to another two books, and from them further away from the core magic texts.

Harry thoroughly enjoyed the study. He was surprised at how much knowledge was so readily available in this world, and looked forward to the time he would spend harnessing the formidable power he had been given. Given his growth rate, and the power that he had had to start with, Harry would be a force to be reckoned with in no time at all.

Well, maybe not _no_ time. But the time would fly by.

Soon enough, Harry was lying back on the bed, his mind was processing and digesting information that he had just been _given_ , not had to fight to understand or infer or link to other branches. Just been _given_ , like it was _nothing_ to impart knowledge to another.

He decided, then and there, that books were a wonderful thing. Idly, in the back of his mind, Harry wondered if he would have thought the same of these pieces of nonfiction if he had to spend days or weeks, rather than minutes, flipping pages to complete them.

Harry didn't stand again until halfway through the night, when he heard Amaryllis wake with a start and, a few moments later, the girl quietly walk downstairs and open the backdoor of the house.

He wanted to know what she was doing, and followed.

It was bright enough for Harry's regular eye to see comfortably and clearly, thanks to the moon. It was still over half-full, and the reflected light seemed strong and mystical when it shone that much. Of course, when it was nearing the full moon and not fading away from it, Harry felt differently. As though it was teasing, not kind.

Amaryllis had fetched her broom by the time he stepped onto the cool grass, and Harry observed the girl as she took to the sky with grace.

He watched her soar into the air, and fall back down only to catch herself in a deliberate maneuver and turn it into a corkscrewing loop-de-loop. She didn't miss a beat after that, and darted lower until her toes skimmed the grass and her hair blew behind her. She turned to face Harry, and his magical eye spotter her own breen orbs were hidden behind lids. He wondered, for a moment, if people could sleep-fly. Then Harry decided she was just relaxed in the air, and felt more assured of her safety.

The girl then began to make Harry uneasy again. Apparently that had just been a warmup, as Amaryllis began rising high into the sky and then speeding towards the ground. With each attempt, she got closer to the ground before pulling back up and looping into the sky in a graceful arc of movement before turning and rushing the ground with determination.

She was an incredible flier. Harry wondered if there was some sport about grace and control rather than hitting and throwing things. She was a seeker, but even there this talent must have been wasted.

The girl grew tired of whatever move that was, and Harry saw her lips moving as she began to circle some imagined pitch. She was going slowly now, and he saw her lean over the side and judge the distance to the ground several times over the course of her laps. Harry felt something akin to nervousness, not knowing what the girl was going to try, and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. It would be interesting, at least.

Amaryllis patted her wrist, nodded, and Harry's magical eye fixed on the small movements of her shoulders as the girl stopped the shaking of her hands.

He wondered why she was attempting whatever she was attempting in the dark, if it frightened her. The few other houses he'd heard tales from, before they all died, had said that Gryffindors were stupidly brave sometime. This proved it, Harry would say. He became sure of its validity as proof when Amaryllis actually made her attempt.

Getting up to a decent speed, though a crawl compared to the whizzing about she had been doing earlier, Harry clenched and unclenched his metal and flesh fists as she slowly moved her feet onto the broom's handle. Briefly, he wondered if she was going to jump as Amaryllis stood up on the instrument. But, then, she held her arms out to either side like a Muggle tightrope walker to improve her balance.

Harry reassessed his impression of the girl, that she was remarkable for having cheated death so much, as Amaryllis crouched ever so slightly on the broom, and leapt into the air.

He could see what she was trying to do, as Amaryllis sailed through the air in a kind-of flip, but she missed her mark by a narrow margin. While it was narrow, there was more than enough space between her and the broom for Amaryllis to pass by her method of flying and plummet towards the ground.

Her eyes widened, and Harry's mirrored the movement as his hands snapped up. The girl fell in an almost controlled fashion, twisting so she was facing the ground and would give a larger surface area for resistance as she fell, as she grabbed at her wrist. Going for the wand that was there, Harry's magic eye told him.

Harry beat her to the punch, and his levitating spell took hold on the girl as her broom began to fall. His right hand outstretched and holding a surprised Amaryllis in the air, Harry's left raised and summoned the broom. It turned towards him, and eagerly shot towards Harry's waiting hand.

He caught it without discomfort, despite its speed, in his silver hand, and began walking towards the spot below the girl as Amaryllis hovered helplessly in the air. Harry began to lower his hand, keeping it anchored to her to allow steady movements of something that could squirm and twist, and she began descending towards the grass with a squeak that reached Harry's sensitive ears.

Her eyes were on Harry as he brought her to the ground, and Amaryllis didn't seem to notice when she was only a half-metre from the grass. Harry waited for her to move and stand, before deciding he would be there for hours if he didn't jolt her out of whatever daze she was in.

He dropped her, and the girl fell on her rear with a yell of confusion and fear.

'Aah!' Amaryllis called, as Harry released her, 'Ah… oh.' she then said, as she placed her palms on the cool ground. 'Don't do that!' she said, scowling at Harry

'Do what?' Harry asked, genuinely confused as to whether she meant dropping or catching.

'Drop me!' she answered his question, 'I thought I was still in mid-air.'

'Sorry.' Harry said in response, not feeling the need to be especially sincere in his apology; he hadn't hurt her and she more seemed shocked to see him than angry at his action.

'What are you _doing_ out here, anyway?' she asked, holding a hand out in the air before her. Harry looked at it, and wondered what she was doing. 'Well help me up, then!'

Harry did, and the girl nodded with a _humph_. She looked at him, and Harry guessed she wanted him to answer. 'I heard you coming out, and thought something was wrong.'

'Why would something be wrong?' she asked, still a little moody. Harry wasn't surprised, considering she had come out here because of nightmares and whatever effect they were having on her subconscious.

'You were having nightmares,' Harry gave as an answer, 'and decided to come outside. If I'd known you were going to fly, I wouldn't have felt the need to follow. Had I known you'd attempt to fly without a broom, I would have.'

'That isn't what I was doing,' Amaryllis said, 'it's a move I've been practising for a while now called the Falling Flyte. If I can get the hang of it by the time Quidditch starts, I'll knock the scouts' socks off.'

'Scouts?' Harry asked.

'Yeah. They've heard good things about me, and a couple of others in Hogwarts, and if I impress them enough I'll get a contract with one of their part-time teams. Dumbledore gives exemptions to let us out of school for the games, and Mum and Dad are really eager to see me playing Pro. Well, Dad more than Mum, but she'd still be proud of me.'

'Could you not impress them with some of the other moves you were pulling?' he asked, 'You're a very good flier, but that trick seems…'

'Reckless?'

'Yes. Reckless,' Harry had been trying to phrase "idiotic" so as to not be insulting.

'When I perfect it, it'll only _look_ reckless. If I can pull it off every time, then they'll be at each others' throats to sign me.' Harry was amused as the girl zoned out, daydreaming about something, he hadn't pegged her as a gloryhound. He had thought she hated the limelight. 'Can you _imagine_? Flying with the best of them? _Proving_ that I'm not just the-girl-who-lived.' Or perhaps that was it.

'I'm sure you'll manage,' Harry assured her, 'considering what I saw before your dive, I think it's inevitable that you have a career on a broom. Quidditch seems a waste.' She looked as though Harry had just slapped her, and his eyebrow twitched upwards

'What?!' Harry wondered if the others were woken by the shout, 'Quidditch is _brilliant_! How could it be a _waste_ to play the _greatest_ sport in the world?! _Professionally_ , at that!'

Harry shrugged, 'It's just to entertain, though, isn't it? I think you can use it in a more productive way. Fighting Dark Wizards.'

'Yeah, but… actually, Dad's mentioned that to me. Apparently Aurors make use of brooms sometimes, and his skill's really useful. But he's always pushed me to Quidditch…'

'He's your father, he cares more about your life than anything,' Harry said, wondering if he should stop talking.

Amaryllis looked at him with an expression Harry didn't quite recognise, 'Did yours?' her eyes were on his scarred face and throat.

'My father died to give me a few seconds of life,' Harry said. He had been thinking of Arthur Weasley, more than his world's James and Lily Potter, but they were applicable. They had died in defense of him, and he had survived the killing curse because of it; had not died as a babe because of Lily and James Potter.

Both of them fell silent, and when she next spoke Amaryllis' voice was a whisper and shout at the same time, 'Holy Shit! You did wandless magic!' She stared at Harry, tired eyes amazed, and looked down at his hands and back again. 'Is that because of the… the metal?'

'No,' Harry shook his head, 'no, anyone can learn wandless magic. A quarter of Wizards did before the war in my world, I think. More of them after it started.'

'Whoa… that's incredible. I don't think I've ever seen someone cast without a wand before.' Her voice was near to awe, as she stared at Harry like he'd grown a second and third head.

'Maybe not, but most wizards don't learn levitation,' Wingardium Leviosa was useful, but they didn't care, 'just to summon their wand.' Harry watched her, as Amaryllis looked at her hands for a long moment. He assumed that she would ask him to teach her.

She did, 'Can you… can you teach me?'

'Okay,' Harry said. That had only been one word in a sentence, but he found that he was stopped from saying anything more as the girl charged into his stomach. He had his hands on her scalp and was about to shove her away and onto the ground, he told himself, not break her neck, before realising that her arms were wrapped around his midsection. Harry draped his arms around the girl and felt awkward, it had been over three years since he last hugged someone properly. He'd given Remus a few one-armed man hugs, but never an actual, sincere, comforting embrace. Not since _her_ death. Remus had hugged Harry, curled into a ball, to try to comfort the devastated boy. Harry had shoved him away. He had turned, and gone into the woods.

'Yes!' Amaryllis pumped her fist, stepping away from Harry, and did a little dance. He watched with amusement as the girl grinned at him. Her cheeks reddened at this point; Harry guessed that she realised she'd just hugged him. But the girl didn't let it snuff out her enthusiasm, 'How do we start?!' she asked, in the same excited voice.

'Now?' Harry blinked at her, 'Sorry, but we'd better wait until Hogwarts. You'll need to transition from wand-magic to wandless if you're going to grasp it.' The girl deflated a little, but the grin stayed in place.

Somehow, they wound up crossing the threshold of the house as Amaryllis asked another question, 'How long will it take to learn?' Harry found that amusing. If she devoted her time to it, she could approach _able_ by the end of the year, he suspected. But Harry had not mastered it to any degree. He was extremely good at it, but he'd heard tell of those who could exert a level of control over elements, as well as uncomplex magics; he had met such a man in his teacher, who had been able to put his hand in fire and come back with a gauntlet of flames. And it had taken Harry five and a half years to get to the point he was at now; he gotten to the point, alone, that he could make pebbles dance in the sky, but his study began in adolescence. With her own wand at an older age, but not the _need_ that had turned Harry into the remarkably fast study he was now, she would hopefully be able to match his progress in a slightly shorter length of time.

'To get to my point, if you're serious about getting there and pour your energy into it, five years. Maybe six? Maybe more, if you don't have the aptitude for it.'

'Oh…' she deflated some more, apparently thinking it would be a quick thing to learn.

'But most wizards wouldn't have been able to catch you from that distance while you were moving at that speed with a wand. To the point that you can summon your wand, I think I can get you there within a month. To the point that you can banish things in another, and levitating in a few more after that.' Harry wasn't sure why he was speaking so much, as he thought it over, 'But I hear you get into all sorts of trouble, so maybe that won't work…'

'What?! No, I don't go looking for trouble, it finds me!' as they paused outside the door, Amaryllis misinterpreted Harry's meaning. He found himself almost smiling again at the girl's reaction and company.

'Not what I meant. It might be a good idea for us to work on the shield spell before banishing and levitating.' since she'd learned it the year before, Amaryllis should have been able to learn _Protego_ wandlessly without _too_ much trouble. Maybe two and a half months, if they were lucky. It was more difficult than levitating, summoning, or banishing, but there were others that were vastly more difficult.

She visibly relaxed, and smiled at him again. Harry found the smile pleasant, charming, and his eyes moved, almost of their own accord, to the scar on her forehead. It was a prominent red line in the shape of a lightning bolt. A _curse scar_ , James had said in Dumbledore's office.

Harry felt the shadow of a memory from when he was too young and the image of a skinny Sirius Black running through the woods, Baby Harry in his arms, swam before his eyes.

Harry shook his head, as Amaryllis yawned and stretched. Harry's human eye followed her movements, the girl was attractive and unintentionally showing off the fact, but moved to her own as she smiled sleepily and spoke.

'Thanks for that, Harry,' she said, 'I'm almost glad I messed up, since it got you to show me that. Would you mind if, when you teach me, I pass the lessons on to Hermione?'

'No,' Harry answered, 'that's fine. If you'd like her to come along, she-' he stopped, as Amaryllis laughed.

'You don't want that, trust me. Even the actual teachers look at her like she's insane.'

'I'll take your word for it,' Harry did his best to smile back, the unfamiliar expression never came easy, and the girl grinned.

'Smart,' she said, 'g'night Harry. See you in the morning.' She left, and Harry observed as she tiptoed up the stairs. He retired to his own room a few minutes later, footsteps softer than anyone's he'd met as long as he wasn't barefoot on something hard, and lay on the sheets. He drifted into a shallow and dreamless sleep, and it would be morning before he woke. The morning would bring discomfort to everyone in the house, and absolute confusion to a visitor.


	6. The World Cup

August 20th, 2003

The table had splintered in Harry's metal hand, and everyone's eyes were on him as he stared at the girl Sirius had brought with him.

Of course she had come. She and Sirius were some of the few good eggs in a rotten family, and it wasn't surprising that she would like a game that brought people out of their shells to the point that they screamed in excitement and shouted taunts at the top of their lungs.

But he hadn't considered… anything. His parents were alive. Sirius and Remus were alive. Dumbledore was alive. But he hadn't even _thought_ that she might have been alive.

Everyone looked concerned, but Harry would later remember the look of absolute panic on Sirius' face as he stared silently at the pair. It would be at the same time as Harry realised that the boy on his hip must have been Sirius' son, though nobody ever mentioned a wife. He would be confused by the fear, and then the reason would occur to him; Sirius was terrified that Harry was looking his way like that for a reason far different to the actual one. Sirius Black had always detested his family, and in this moment feared that in Harry's world he had been like them.

Harry stared at _her_ , and her hair turned blue as she looked back nervously. Harry saw her heart-shaped face, pale skin obvious with the dark blue of her shoulder-length hair. He let the wooden mulch in his clenched hand fall to the floor as her eyes flickered between sapphire blue and emerald green as she looked back into Harry's own. How long he stared, Harry had no idea, all he knew was that the image of her, in an ireland jersey with a flag in hand, was burned into his eyelids for months after. She was older than when he'd known… not her. Three or four years, if he had to guess. Still older than him by two or three, as though she had aged with him. He broke out of the daze when she shifted, and he spoke in a voice softer than had escaped his lips since he spoke to her grave.

'Nymphadora…'

'Hullo,' she said, nervous but trying to be chirpy to break the tension, 'you must be Harry.'

And there it was. She didn't know him. Had Nymphadora's face, but not her memories. Was Nymphadora, but not his Nymphadora.

'I'll go get some wood to mend this,' Harry was halfway through the door, not the one in which they stood, when he spoke. It seemed to let people know he had risen to his feet and covered the distance in three quick strides, and he heard someone say something in an attempt to get his attention. Harry didn't hear the words themselves, just the voice. His hand tore the handle from the door as he strode into the garden, and Harry broke into a run for the woodlands he had appeared in months before.

-()-

'What'd I do?' Tonks asked, confused and concerned about the stranger's odd behaviour. She didn't even think she'd stared at him that much, thanks to Sirius' warning about the boy's injuries and odd method of healing, but the boy had looked at her like she'd stuck a knife in his heart.

'You didn't do anything, Tonks,' James assured her, his wand pointing at the table from his place in the just-used doorway as the broken piece of furniture mended itself, 'I don't know what that was about, but whatever it is it didn't happen in this world.'

Tonks blinked at him, Sirius had said something about dimension travel, but she'd figured he must have been joking. Even with the serious expression and tone. They just made her more likely to believe him and make a fool out of herself in front of the new guy.

The new guy. She couldn't tell how old he was. A teenager, but one missing a third of his face; that made it kind of tricky to place his exact age. Between Amaryllis' and hers, Nymphadora guessed. In a way, he was quite handsome; a strange way, admittedly, but he still had the looks if one went for metal-faced men. Not that Tonks would go for him. No-sir, he'd been looking at her like he was already planning who he would order her to be.

Fucking Cedric Diggory. She should have cut his cock and balls off, not just kicked him there, for the reputation he stuck her with. They'd kissed in second year, and the boy had spread it around the school that she'd turned into Sinistra and screwed him in a Broom Closet. WHICH WAS NOT TRUE. No matter how often she denied it, Cedric insisted it was what happened for years after. By the time he'd gotten his ego into control a bit, others had started jumping on the bandwagon. Now, she had the reputation of being Hogwarts' resident submissive slut. Each time someone came up to her and demanded that she change into this celebrity or this teacher or this girl or boy, she would kick the arrogant sod between his or her legs.

The next day, he'd be telling everyone who'd listen how she'd spread her legs for him. And none of the nice guys would touch her with a ten-foot pole! They all thought she'd give them something, so Tonks was stuck with three choices. Either fuck an arse, not in that way, go without _company_ until the end of Seventh Year, or turn gay. Any guy she could find in the summer would just want a fling, and would be as big of an arse for it. And she'd _tried_ to go gay, but it didn't do it for her. Plus, snogging a pretty lesbian from the year below hadn't done anything to help with the whole "slut" image.

Tonks didn't like the choice she'd been left with, but at least she was magical and a metamorphmagi. Her alone time was hardly dull, even if another participant would have made it better. And she only had two years left 'til school was out for good. She could cope. Although she _was_ starting to get worryingly aroused by the sight of her own reflection.

But, yeah. The new guy was weird. She wondered what the other version of her had done to him, and cursed that version of her if she'd been dumb enough to actually do what he told her and turn into Jessica Simpson, or some shit.

Where'd he gone anyway? And had James followed? Tonks felt concerned, she really did, but was pretty sure going after him would be a bad idea on her part. On the up-side, she only tripped once when she went to sit besides Amaryllis to catch up with her and Hermione.

-()-

Harry sat in a what _could_ be described as a clearing. Of course, clearings usually had a clear patch of land and not felled trees and new stumps with the occasional standing tree that had a fist-sized hole in it.

'Wow. You were being serious about getting some wood, then,' James chuckled at the end of it, making Harry wonder if the strange innuendo had been intentional, 'although I'm pretty sure you knew we could just wave our wands and it'd all be right again.'

Harry didn't respond, from his place sat on a clean-cut stump. He couldn't remember whether this one had been a spell or blade.

'I got the door, too,' James felt the need to say, as he cast a spell on another stump, this one having been broken by blunt force, and the top smoothed out. He sat down, and continued, 'I don't suppose anyone's mentioned how I wooed Lily, have they?'

Harry didn't answer.

'No, of course not,' James said, 'but I think it could help. I've never had anyone to share my womanly wisdom with before now,' he said, almost excited, 'and don't listen to Sirius. I definitely know what I'm talking about. The way I got Lily, though, shows that love isn't a sprint. It's a marathon.

'You see, I saw her for the first time in First Year. I fell for her, hard, from that moment, but it was just the crush of an immature little brat. She looked at me like I was dirt, but I didn't let it get me down. I played jokes on her and called her names, even pulled her hair once, and, of course, that didn't work. She pretended to hate me then but, honestly, I think she fancied me back at least a little. It's probably a good thing nothing happened at that age, since there's no way she would've stayed with me when I became an even bigger ponce. We would've broken up, and we wouldn't have gotten married and had kids.

'But that doesn't mean I like the next tactic I used. I usually say that I was trying to make her jealous, but truth be told I was hurt by the fact that she ignored me. I wanted to get rid of the feelings, so I took Sirius' advice and started screwing everything in a skirt. We even made a game of seeing who could get the most _notches_. It took a good long time, not 'til Christmas of Fifth Year, and my parents dying for me to stop that. By then, your- uh, Lily had grown into a really beautiful woman. She'd even dated Remus for a little bit, until it became evident that he was a Marauder through and through. I fell for her harder than ever when I pulled my head out of my arse. Stopped treating her like she was just another notch.

'Of course, she hated me by then. To the point that she actually wanted to do me harm, and on more than one occasion did; she'd liked me, and I just turned around and shagged more than half the girls in our year and the ones one below and above. I remember I walked in on her crying at one point during that stretch, but just ignored it like the prat I was. I apologised, and asked her out. She told me to fuck off. I tried again and again and then stopped apologising and making it out like I was telling a joke.

'It fucking hurt, I'll tell you that. She seemed repulsed, and I didn't know what to do to change her opinion of me. That didn't happen 'til Seventh Year, when we were Head Boy and Girl, but I think the _incessant_ badgering let her know I really liked her and that I was being serious. Or, who knows, it might have been the fact that I Jinxed every bloke who came within two meters of her. Anyway, when we sat down in the Head's Carriage, with her glaring daggers at me, I told her that I'd ask her out once a month and that I'd leave her alone apart from that if she wanted me to. I _said_ that I'd stay out of her way if she decided to date other guys but, by that point, even she wasn't getting guys brave enough to ask on pain of having the Marauders adjust their sights to solely rest on them.

'When she saw I was mature, though I still pranked- it _is_ in my blood- and took the job seriously, Lily gave me a chance. And we've been together ever since.' James finished, looking at Harry as Harry looked back with confusion.

'I'm sorry, what are you trying to tell me?' he asked.

'I get what you're going through. I don't know what happened between you and your world's Tonks, but you clearly are interested in her. Just be upfront and honest, and there's every chance she'll say yes. You look… different, obviously, but Tonks gets what it's like to be different like that. She's a metamorphmagus and, even if it's an incredible gift, people judge her heavily because of it. Some of them hate the fact that she can become them with a thought, others because she's a Half-Blood with what they consider a Pureblood gift.'

'That's not what I'm going through,' Harry told him, and then continued while wondering why he was, 'I was in love with Nymphadora, and I think she was in love with me. She didn't scorn me, or break my heart in any way that was either of our faults. She died, I buried her. I moved past it as best as I could. And now I know that there's a girl in this world who's wearing her face. Or one of her faces.

'I miss her.' Harry finished, simply.

James said, 'Oh,' and the conversation died. They sat silently for a few hours.

At lunchtime they made their way back towards the house. Harry's trunk still had all his things inside, so his _packing_ was just a matter of picking it up and coming back downstairs. But they hadn't counted on that, and evidently Nymphadora had asked James for an explanation. Sirius stood next to her.

' _I died_?!' Tonks kept her voice quiet, in a whisper-shout, but it reached Harry's werewolf ears. The two words only conveyed surprise, though, and she was facing away from Harry so his magical eye couldn't pick up anything of her expression.

'Fucking Hell…' Sirius ran a hand through his hair, longer than Harry had ever seen it because he could afford to have it long in a peaceful and happy world, and Harry could see the emotion on his face more than hear it in his voice. Even so, it wasn't an easy mix to discern. Sirius looked angry, sad and sympathetic in equal measures as he stared up at the wall between Harry and himself.

'So we were…' Nymphadora made a gesture of interlocking her fingers, and James nodded, '... and I...' she brought a finger across her throat. Another nod. '...Fuck.' She glanced in Harry's direction, as well, and her expression was sadder than Harry had seen her in his last life. Even while she died, she'd been smiling at him, doing her best to stop his anger and sadness as he held her. She felt sorry for him, now; Harry wondered if James had told her anything else.

'I just thought you should know. I'm sure he doesn't want to offend you, but if he manages to be around you I think it'll be nothing short of a miracle.'

Tonks nodded, and was silent as Sirius spoke. 'Other than _that_ , how's he doing?' he asked. Harry saw the boy who he'd been holding sat on Amaryllis' knee as they read a book. She, her sisters, and Hermione were pretending not to listen. But the room wasn't that large, more comfortable and cozy, and none of them were speaking.

'Very well, actually,' James commented, bringing surprise onto Sirius' face.

Harry nodded. He agreed that he was doing well. This life was easy, and the change was… odd. Good. If unexpected. Today was an episode, but he'd been learning how to live a normal life in a living world and make sure he was as close to happy as it was possible to be; a world in which there was happiness in abundance was easy. He wasn't comfortable yet, but he wasn't uncomfortable either.

When Harry made his way downstairs, a little noisier than he'd needed to be, James commented on his good timing and Lily came downstairs with her things and Mia's. Harry was a little surprised, he'd thought that the youngest would've stayed home, but it wasn't an bad thing.

They walked to a manhole cover, and Harry wondered if they couldn't have found something more inconspicuous to have in the middle of a field.

Harry laid a hand on the Portkey, along with the others, and felt a fishhook tug at his stomach. They were pulled to a large field, Harry landed on his feet and thought he caught a glimpse of something in the distance before he found something, someone, crash into him. Whoever it was grabbed ahold of him in an attempt to stay upright, and Harry found that the ground was less-than-solid as his feet shifted in the mud and he found himself on the ground on his back.

Tonks had always been clumsy, and this world's version was clearly no different.

What Harry couldn't understand, though, was how she had managed to fall over onto him quite like this. She lay across his midsection, legs tangled in the way they had evidently tripped her up, with her face in the mud. She had grabbed him, taken him down with her, and yet landed _across_ him. How?

'Blurg,' Nymphadora said, as she rolled over to get her face out of the mud in favour of her hair, 'well, that was disgusting.' She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, attempting to not get mud in her eyes themselves, and Harry felt her other hand poke his left hand. His metal hand. Then, she stroked it, tapped it, and grabbed it, 'What in Merlin's saggy- oh…'

She leapt to her feet, tripped over her still crossed legs, and fell back down.

Onto Harry, again.

This time, she landed bum-first in his stomach. Harry let out an _oof_ of breath, while Tonks gave an exclamation of 'OW!' as her tailbone found one of the patches of metal on Harry's midsection.

She tumbled off him, onto her front again, and rubbed her lower back. 'Bloody… fucking…' she looked at him, gave a gri, and spoke again, 'you give a whole new meaning to "abs of steel", don't ya?' Harry gave a huff of laughter, breath still missing from his lungs, and rose to his feet with some difficulty. He offered her two hands, and Tonks took both to help her get to her feet. She stared at him, as though thinking something over, and Harry quickly turned to survey the damage done to the others.

He should have predicted that James and Sirius would be leant against each other, laughing hysterically at James' daughters sprawled in the mud. Sirius' son, whose name Harry had yet to discover, was giggling next to them. The two, however, should have expected Lily's move as much as Harry should have predicted theirs. A tripping jinx sent Sirius tumbling to the ground and, without his support, James followed a moment later and landed in a heap on top of his best friend. As they groaned, the little boy laughed uproariously and was joined by Tonks and the other girls shortly thereafter. Lily's lips quirked upwards, too, but she resisted the temptation to laugh with them in favour of organising her group and leading them towards the stadium in the distance.

When they arrived, it was to be greeted by a friendly enough muggle, to whom Lily handed the appropriate amount of money and was given a map in return and directions towards their designated spot.

'I could've done it.' James whined, when they were out of the Muggle's earshot.

'Maybe, but last time we went to a muggle restaurant you gave the waiter a two-hundred pound tip.'

'He was a good waiter!'

'You gave him a 400% tip!'

They made it to the campsite shortly thereafter, and Tonks was kind enough to clean the mud off Harry's back and head, since she'd been responsible, with a subtle _Scourgify_. Harry had subsequently moved to the other side of their little group, not looking over at her until they were setting up the tent, and walked in silence as he lugged his trunk around. Harry wondered if it might be good to put a weightless charm, or rune once he looked at the books on that subject, on it when they went to Hogwarts instead of the weight-reduction feature that was built in. He didn't mind a little weight, but it made it more cumbersome to carry. In fact, it might be best to look into the effects of shrinking it as a whole. The issue being, Harry didn't like the idea of unshrinking every single item separately.

He was interested to see that their spot was only a stone's throw from the stadium. He wondered how drunk people would be after the game, and how late they would be singing and shouting.

When they arrived at the tent, most let out a collective groan at seeing they had to set up the tent by hand, some listened to Sirius give less-than-cohesive arguments in favour of magic, and just Sirius sat pouting when they'd all been disregarded, the eleven of them went inside after the work had been completed, and took a seat. The conversation was only brief, before James and Sirius ducked out, and then Lily showed Harry and George- Sirius' son- the boys' side of the tent.

Ten minutes later, and George was giggling like a tiny madman as Harry floated him around the room in complex patterns at an increasing speed. The complex patterns were to get in some practice at precise movements. The same couldn't be said for the speed, since it was well under half of what Harry _could_ do, but Harry wanted to see how much the little tyke could take before giving up or vomiting.

A lot, as it turned out. When Harry decided to go out into the main section nearly an hour later, leaving his trunk in his small section that had a bed just barely big enough for him, George refused to come down. So, Harry floated him through the air and dropped him onto the comfortable chair in the lounge-area. The boy giggled as Harry summoned the Book of Spells grade 4 and took a seat nearby. Once in awhile, almost absentmindedly, Harry would levitate the boy into a somersault and then put him back down, laughing maniacally all over again.

Eventually, the female Potters and Tonks and Hermione came back out, Harry guessed they had unpacked unhurriedly, and they began talking about something that Harry tuned out. If they wanted to involve him, he would put in the effort to appear interested, but they apparently did not.

Instead, he started a new game with the kid staring at him. Harry's magical eye, or the iris, would monitor the females and, when he felt they would not notice, he hovered the boy in the air and spun him to face the table at which they sat. As one turned, Harry would let the boy fall and the girls would try to figure out why George was laughing insanely.

Eventually, George went over and sat with the others. He seemed impressed by all of them, but Mia was closest to his age and so struck him the most. Harry occasionally saw him trying to iterate his admiration, but the little man had very little knowledge of language. Harry guessed, though, that he would take after his father when he got to his teenage years; the girls fawned over his cuteness a little already.

Harry's magical eye went back to processing information, and Harry had devoured the Spell book and two runic texts that temporarily baffled him. Then, he saw that they were 2 and 3 in order of texts, and was most of the way through the first when James and Sirius returned. It was mid-afternoon, and the two gave long groans of complaint at the prospect of having to go out again in the evening.

While George climbed onto his father's head, enthusiastic and as far from shy as anyone, James ruffled through a cupboard. He let out an 'AHA!' and then Harry heard a painful thud and an ' _Ow_!', before climbing out of the cupboard with a grin and a box that was rattling.

'What's that, Dad?' Amaryllis asked.

'Muggle game,' James replied. Harry watched Sirius vault the back of the largest sofa, one to Harry's right, with a grin on his face, and then the man waved his wand. The area grew, seats expanding, and a large red-topped table appeared, 'no, that's for Poker, dog-brain!'

'Well, what type of table does that one have?!' Sirius asked, a grin still in place.

'It doesn't have a table!'

'Well, then, what's wrong with this one?!'

James grumbled an insult under his breath, but the group were all, soon, sat around the table listening to James explain the rules incorrectly and get corrected by Sirius, who would in turn be corrected by Lily.

Hermione thoroughly trounced them. Sirius insisted they have a rematch, then James made the demand the second time only to be reminded that they had to eat and then the two of them had to go back out. Next to Harry, Amaryllis grinned at her friend's look of pride, and the fact that Hermione was already setting up the board for another game. The two men gave strict instructions to wait until they returned, and the group still inside started conversing again.

'So, you looking forward to seeing Ronald?' Amaryllis asked her friend, with a grin. At Hermione's grimace, she burst out laughing, and Harry had to wonder if she had been drinking during the day at the amount of humour she drew from the look.

'Who's Ronald?' Lily asked, interested by the teasing.

'A ponce in our year in Gryffindor.' Hermione answered, simply.

'One who seems torn between insulting Hermione and defending her honour,' Amaryllis said, 'probably because he doesn't dare admit he fancies her.'

'Ugh.' Tonks, unexpectedly, spoke up next. 'Every year he gets into a shouting match with Malfoy across the Hall. I'm almost tempted to ask which of them is worse.'

'Malfoy.' Hermione answered, a moment later.

'Malfoy. Every time.' Amaryllis nodded firmly, 'At least Ron's just a bit of a brat. Malfoy goes about cursing people between praising his father's pull over the board.'

'Lucius Malfoy?' Harry asked, having been following the conversation.

'His ponce of a son. Draco.' Amaryllis said firmly. She didn't seem to consider why Harry had asked, or how he had known the name.

'I'm sure he's not as bad as-' Lily said quietly, and Harry ventured that it was just a token defense of the boy.

'That reminds me,' Amaryllis turned to her younger sisters, 'if he even looks at you wrong, I want to you to come find me. Okay?'

Both nodded firmly.

'That's the one good thing about it all,' Hermione commented, thoughtfully, 'some of the curses his father's taught him are horrible, but he's awful in a duel.'

Harry made a mental note of that. Lucius malfoy was a foul piece of shit, and one of the best he'd fought. Harry had defeated him the last couple of times, but never by a large enough margin to undermine the man's skill. And, before that, Malfoy had dealt him a couple of wounds that were now scars. If Draco Malfoy lacked skill, it was definitely a good thing, but if he knew some of the nastier curses his father favoured, he could kill or seriously maim someone without question. Harry still remembered how Malfoy had killed the Weasley daughter; a gruesome spell whose violence served no actual purpose. It was wasteful in power, but only dealt with one target and had done nothing to deter the other fighters. Instead, it had spurred them on.

They moved from the discussion of disliked classmates to friends, and Harry found the subject less interesting. Apparently, though, a boy named Colin was getting to the age that he might, in Tonks' words, "jizz in his pants when he next saw Amaryllis". Apparently he had an obsession with her, but none of them seemed to think he was anything approaching dangerous.

They talked about teachers, and Harry was fairly certain that was for his benefit. He learned that Snape was a piece of work, Lily had not even attempted to refute that and based on the anger that flashed across her face had wholly agreed, and that he should watch out in Potions because they always seemed to be paired with Slytherin for that subject. He was told that Mcgonagall was nice, but strict. That Flitwick was kind and pleasant but that the Slytherins had a habit of muttering about him behind the half-goblin's back. Sprout wasn't a very talented Witch, apparently, but in her chosen subject, Herbology, was a master.

Soon after that, when they were in the midsts of a debate about a woman named Sinestra and whether or not she'd gone to bed with a boy in Tonks' year named Diggory or a boy the year above called Davies or both, James and Sirius bounded back into the tent. They had gotten through their work as quickly as possible, and Harry noticed the looks of confidence as they set up the board again.

Soon, it was shown that they had discussed tactics to get a victory over the intelligent Gryffindor. When Hermione thrashed them again, Sirius let out a loud, 'Oh, come on!' and flipped the board over onto the floor. He'd then gone to pick it up with his metaphorical tail between his legs, and set it up again.

They insisted on playing three more times, lost each, and then grumpily let the others go. James blamed Sirius, Sirius blamed James, Hermione grinned widely as she headed to bed; the last three _games_ had taken nearly six hours between them, and it was past midnight by the time they were done.

All in all, the conclusion could be reached that Hermione Granger was very good at Monopoly.

-()-

Over the course of the sunday, the day after, the campsite grew busier and busier as people arrived for Monday's match. Wizards and WItches from all over arrived, a quarter Bulgarian, a third Irish and the others mostly made of Englishmen.

Harry eventually stopped reading for a long enough time to go for a walk, wondering about the comment made to Hermione that he was _even_ worse than her, and found that the campsite was larger than he had believed. If every tent had more than one person in it, there seemed to be a minimum of ten-thousand people sprawled across the land. The stadium would hold them, but Harry wondered whether more would arrive over the course of the day and in the morning of Monday. If they did, there might well be trouble. There were already fights breaking out between the Irish and Bulgarian fans.

He felt uneasy, hearing the clamour of wizards moving about the site. The bustle, and buzz of voices, weren't something Harry knew how to be around. He had been around hundreds of people while they were all fighting for life and limb, but never around thousands as they smiled and talked and bartered.

So, his walk didn't last long. He retreated back into the relative comfort of the tent, and George clapped as he demanded that he be levitated again. Harry wondered if the others knew of his wandless magic, it was hardly important to keep secret but he wasn't in any rush to divulge it unnecessarily, and his question was answered at least partially when Hermione Granger ambushed him and demanded he explain the ability.

It also removed his confusion at his being _worse than her_ and Amaryllis telling him that he wouldn't enjoy trying to teach Hermione the art. She sought more understanding of the skill than Harry had, and didn't seem satisfied with any of his explanation.

That took up Harry's afternoon, and by the end he was exhausted from trying to keep up with the intelligent witch.

Tonks, through the evening, entertained George and Mia with her Metamorphmagi ability while Sirius and James desperately attempted to best Hermione in a game of Poker. They didn't manage, and complained loudly when Hermione revealed that she was somehow keeping track of what was in the deck and what was in their hands. Then, she beat them while the Marauders tried to cheat.

-()-

Another night's sleep, and another day's inactivity of reading but being unable to put his newly learned spells into practice, found Harry following the Potter clan into the stadium. Lily had chosen to stay in the tent with the two youngest, neither of whom would have been able to tolerate the screams and shouts of the crowd, and by the time they had reached the seats they would be in it sounded like Sirius almost envied her.

'Why did we have to climb up that many stairs?' he whined, as Hermione and the twins breathed a little heavily. Harry rolled his right shoulder, as Tonks nursed her sore knee. She had very nearly tumbled back down the very tall stairs, but her flailing arms had caught Harry's attention and he had grabbed her wrist before the older girl could topple backwards. She did, however, fall over and slam her knee onto the edge of an uncovered step.

'Because our seats are up here,'James said, annoyed. Harry understood why, 'as I've said six times before.'

Sirius leant in near the other man's ear with a suppressed grin, 'But it was _faaar_ ,' he said, in a grating whining voice, ' _oof_.' James jabbed the long haired man in the gut, and Sirius was left bent-double as the Potter Patriarch lead the way to their reserved space.

James and Sirius, between them, had reserved a room that was a level below the Minister's box. James had explained that, while both of them would prefer to be amongst the crowd in the heart of the atmosphere, he didn't want his daughters amongst the chaos that would come. He muttered something about the last time, and Harry remembered reading of the history of the world cup; it hadn't been in England for some time, but last time it was in the country twenty-three people were trampled. It threw the survival instincts of wizards into question that they had all come anyway.

As he looked over the side, and down at the excited crowd of wizards, he saw he had greatly underestimated the number of people. Apparently a good few tents held as many people as the Potter's and, most likely, a good number of people had arrived just for the match. The stadium, inside, looked like it would comfortably seat a hundred thousand, not ten, and that it was full to capacity. Maybe above capacity.

Harry took his seat, and found that the atmosphere of excitement and fun was starting to get to him. He was eager for the match to begin.

They had been sitting there for a few minutes when someone stopped by for a brief conversation on their way up to the top-box. The man was aging and sour faced with a toothbrush mustache, and was accompanied by a red-haired young man who was following him with the eagerness of an excited puppy.

'Potter,' he nodded at James, and then eyes Sirius with some level of dislike, 'Black.' While his tone wasn't especially pleasant to James, it reflected some level of antipathy to Sirius, who grinned widely in return. From the fact that the smile didn't reach his eyes, however, Harry gathered that the feeling was mutual.

'Barty,' James nodded at the man, politely, 'headed up to the Minister's space?'

The now named Barty nodded, 'Indeed. He is hosting the Bulgarian Minister, and wishes to introduce me.' the man said, unhappily, 'I would recommend avoiding him. Fudge would relish at the chance to show off the-girl-who-lived.'

'Thanks for the tip.' James said.

'You're welcome,' the conversation paused at this, and Barty stood silent as a statue as the occupants of the room waited for him to continue.

'Well… have fun. We'll see you at the office tomorrow, I expect.' James said, awkwardly.

'Yes. Yes, you too,' the dislikable man said, with a frown on his face. He turned and walked out without introducing the ginger young man who was behind him. Not-Barty nodded politely at Amaryllis, Hermione and Tonks before hurrying after the sour face man.

'Wanker.' Sirius said, when the man had left.

'Yep.' James agreed.

Apparently, they didn't feel like explaining to Harry who the man was, so he asked Amaryllis, who was sat between Harry and Hermione, with Tonks on Hermione's other side. Sirius and James took a seat on Harry's right, between him and the twin girls.

'Barty Crouch,' she said, with a grimace, 'he supposedly could have been a great Wizard before his... family came into question, but Dad's always described him as a bit of a prat. Really power-hungry, and powerful already, he should've become the next Minister but he fucked up in the later stages of the war.' James ignored his daughter's language despite being well within earshot, 'Lucius Malfoy pointed a finger at Sirius, I don't know what he was trying to accomplish, and Crouch tried to throw the book at him. Tried to use the special-permissions he'd been given to just chuck him in Azkaban but Dad and Dumbledore had an altercation with him. Then, Sirius was one of the most vocal anti-Crouchers and when it came to light that his son was a Death Eater Sirius basically blamed his shitty parenting. The Prophet quoted him, and Crouch got shifted to head a quiet department to be out of Fudge's way as he played politics.

'I don't think it helped that Crouch helped with Snape, and that some other Death Eater who Dad's got a grudge against for being a "slimy little shit" got off free of charges because everyone was caught up in the scandal of Crouch's son being a Corpse-gobbler. Or that he desperately tried to get Bagman, who'll be commentating today, thrown in Azkaban for just being a dumbass. Dad and Sirius insist that he's harmless, if moronic, and both have seen what Azkaban do to weak-minded idiots.'

'I've gotta start putting up privacy wards.' James muttered, insincerely, as his daughter finished her speech. Sirius chuckled.

'She's the daughter of a Marauder, what did you expect?' Now, James laughed. Amaryllis blushed a little, but they were all distracted as a voice rang out over the stadium. Harry looked up, seeing the potbellied man on the floor above, and noticed that the Top Box was packed full, too.

Harry saw Barty Crouch shove a shaking House Elf aside, and frowned a little; he disliked the way they were viewed in the Wizarding World. But it wasn't his business. Next, Harry scowled as he noticed Lucius Malfoy in the room, sitting between a smaller short-haired version of the man and a pretty blonde witch with an expression that suggested she smelled something disgusting.

Harry then eyed the Weasleys with curiosity, noticing something _odd_ , only for his attention to be pulled away as the crowd gave a roar of approval at something the disembodied voice announced.

Harry noted that the Blackboard that had, previously, been proclaiming a message about some family broom, now served as a scoreboard. It showed _BULGARIA:ZERO_ and _IRELAND:ZERO_.

'And now, without further ado,' the enthusiastic plump man's voice announced, 'allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian Team Mascots!'

Sirius was on his feet and next to the bannister a moment later, and Harry wondered what was wrong with the man as he stared at the field below.

'Where are they? Where are they? Got them!' Harry hadn't noticed before, but the man had gotten a device from somewhere that was roughly the same shape as Muggle Binoculars. The difference between them was the multitude of dials and buttons on Sirius' binoculars, some of which he twisted and pressed as he brought them to his eyes.

Curious, Harry took a step forward and looked down too. He wondered, briefly, what had gotten not-his-godfather so worked up. The likely cause occurred to him even as he spotted the true reason; Sirius had always had a weakness for women that bordered on obsessive. Even in war, he had flirted and fucked more than anyone's fair share.

Walking across the grass in strides of grace and elegance, were the most beautiful creatures Harry had ever seen. A hundred unnaturally gorgeous women walked across the pitch as those in the red portions of the crowd roared and clapped and hollered. Harry stared at them, his magical eye serving as his own looking glass, and felt his pulse quicken as they stopped and began to dance.

Suddenly, it occurred to him that he needed to stand out somehow. Harry wondered if vaulting the bannister would do it, and found his hand on the railing before another part of his mind insisted that that wouldn't do it. That, instead, he needed to drive his knee into the edge of the railing. That that would surely attract their attention.

A moment later, Harry was clutching his shattered knee cap on the floor and growling deep in his chest. That… whatever it was had cost him some bone, soon to be repaired as silver beneath his skin, and Harry found himself annoyed that he'd been so affected. Whatever those things were, he'd never encountered them before.

While he hobbled over and collapsed into his seat, Harry noticed that the girls of their party were giving him a strange look that only lasted for a moment before they all went back to watching James and Sirius wrestle a few metres away.

It seemed to be a display on Sirius' part, to show that he was the Alpha male of the crowd, and James was losing the fight because he was trying desperately not to laugh at Sirius' words as they tussled.

'Mine! All of them are mine! I'll screw them all, I don't care if it kills me! You can't have any of them, Prongs! All mine!' he said, trying to pin James to the floor as he chanted the greedy words. Harry didn't find it amusing, as he tried to understand what had happened. How powerful were they, that he'd been affected from several hundred metres away, when all they did was dance?

Harry decided, in that moment, to find out everything there was to know about the beautiful women that weren't women. And, more importantly, how he could resist their… charms.

Then music that Harry hadn't noticed was playing stopped, and Sirius came back to himself. Harry could see the wheels turning as the man wondered why he was on top of James with a hand pushing the man's face against the floor. Sirius got up, groaning, and spoke.

'Aw, crap. I dropped my Omnioculars.' He picked them up, and looked into the binocular-contraption and twizzled another nub, 'Well, I got a few minutes, at least.' He said to himself, and sat down on his seat as James struggled to his feet.

'No, don't worry. I don't need a hand, it's not like you were just wrestling me because you can't control your inner hound, or anything.'

The crowd was protesting as the Veelas moved off the pitch, and Harry heard new shouts coming from the green supporters.

A comet shot into the stadium, bright green and gold catching the moonlight almost as much as the Veela's perfect skin had, and exploded into a chaotic frenzy. A rainbow formed in the sky, and then a swirling cloud rushed around the goalposts. It broke apart into specks of green and gold, and they rushed individually around the pitch as the crowd _ooh_ ed and _aah_ ed They all flew into the air, and Harry watched as they formed a giant shamrock. Gold rained from the sky, and Harry winced as fights broke out in the crowd below.

The Shamrock dissolved, becoming thousands of tiny figures, and drifted down to the pitch. Harry noticed that, on the other side, the Veelas sat on a long bench.

The man above spoke again, 'And now, ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team!' as seven scarlet-clad figures shot into the air above the pitch, each moving with speed enough to blur, he listed the name of each in turn, 'Dimitrov! Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! _Aaaaaaand - Krum_!'

The last figure brought the loudest roar of all, to the point that Harry flinched at the sound. The young man, Krum, was nineteen years old, thin and sallow skinned with dark hair, and was a celebrity that Harry had heard about over the course of the past few days. _A prodigy_ , _the best rider in years_ , _like he was born to fly_.

The announcer, Bagman, continued, 'And now, please greet the Irish National Quidditch Team! Presenting- Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaand- _Lynch_!'

Seven green-clad players zoomed out, and the crowd cheered. None, however, got the ovation of Krum.

Next, Bagman brought out the referee, who kicked open the crate of balls as he mounted his broom. And the match begun.

It was halfway through the admittedly impressive match that Harry noticed the girl next to him was clutching his metal hand hard enough that her knuckles were white. He glanced at her, and saw Amaryllis drinking in the spectacle before them; she really seemed to care about Quidditch, and Harry felt no need to remove her grip. It might hurt her, later, but that could be fixed with an easy spell or two and Harry's hand was far too tough to be broken by the grip of a slightly thin teenage girl.

With each goal scored, the crowd roared and stomped and cheered. Or they booed and hollered insults, if they were Bulgarians. Harry didn't know the sport that well, but he could plainly see that there was a serious difference in skill between the two teams; Krum massively outclassed Lynch, but other than that the Bulgarian team was outmatched by far. The Irish Chasers were excellent, and moved as though they could communicate with their minds, and their beaters had landed a few serious hits on the Bulgarian team but, more importantly, had kept Bludgers from striking the goal-scorers or defender.

' _Wronski Feint_.' Amaryllis whispered, as the Irish seeker lay still on the grass. Harry watched, impressed, as Krum easily pulled his broom up only a few meters from the ground. He had taken the other seeker out of commission, and the game had come to a pause as Healers rushed over. That allowed the Bulgarian to search for the snitch himself. And he would need to catch it soon if he wanted to snatch victory from the Irish.

He caught it soon, but not soon enough. Troy, Mullet and Moran were unstoppable as they pulled ahead of the Bulgarians. First at _Ten-Zero_ , then _Thirty-Zero_ , _Thirty_ - _Ten, Eighty-Ten, One hundred-Ten_ , and then more.

The crowd had laughed, though, as the Referee gave a presentation worthy of a Peacock to the Veela's, trying to impress them. James nudged Sirius, remarking that his ladies were being stolen, and received a slap across the back of the head for his efforts as Sirius didn't take his eyes from the game.

The fact that the Bulgarian Beaters had adopted a policy of disruption, trying to buy Krum time to catch the quick golden ball, was a decent tactic. On paper. With each penalty, the Irish pulled ahead and it soon got to the point that Krum _had_ to catch the snitch _now_ or it would no longer save the game.

The beautiful women were replaced by avians throwing fire and shrieking, and Harry's ears stung as he plugged them with his fingers. He watched, at the same time, as a bludger slammed into Krum's face. Harry tensed, waiting for the man to fall from his broom, and was shocked as Krum stayed aloft with blood pouring from his face.

And then the end came. Lynch was diving for the snitch with Krum on his tail, the Bulgarian leaving blood trailing in the air behind him. He drew level with Lynch as the two rocketed downwards. They were going to crash-no. Lynch was. The Irish Seeker hit the ground with tremendous force, and wasn't getting up anytime soon as he was accosted by inuman, angry women.

Krum rose into the air, his hand raised in a fist that clutched the weakly fluttering wings of the golden snitch. The crowd did not seem to understand what was happening, as the scoreboard read: _BULGARIA: ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY, IRELAND: ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY._

Ireland cheered and Bulgaria gave a great groan of disappointment as the Leprechauns celebrated with gusto.

'Damn, that was a good game.' James said, with a grin on his face.

A few hours later, and Harry was lounging on one of the comfortable chairs in their tent. They had discussed the match at great length, and he'd found himself participating heartily. Harry had compared their tactics, giving potential alternatives, and had found himself highlighting the skill and resilience of Krum like the rest of them. Hermione, in particular, seemed outright impressed at the older boy and the fact that he had kept flying when his nose was broken and his eyes were rapidly developing deep rings of purple.

Now, everyone was beginning to get tired. George had fallen asleep half-an-hour before, and had been put to bed without any reluctance. Nobody looked to be far behind, though James and Sirius were still nipping out into the night occasionally to check that the celebrating Irish were not getting out of hand. The tent had an impressive array of sound-suppression charms, so their sounds were hardly audible inside.

'Careful, 'Mione,' Amaryllis, in a newly-made armchair, said with a grin, 'you and Ronald might have something in common if you keep this up.'

'Huh?' Hermione asked, 'What will we have in common?' she continued.

'You'll both fancy Krum.' Amaryllis ducked preemptively, and a pillow soared over her head, 'Don't worry! I'm sure he'll be willing to share!' The next one caught Amaryllis in the face, and Hermione burst out laughing with her friend as Tonks chortled along with them. James had snuck his eldest daughter a Firewhiskey, as well as Hermione and Harry. He had seemed put out that Harry drank it without a problem, but accepted the explanation that he'd had his first at age twelve with a grin that was almost proud.

''S'ere gonna be a contest between you 'nd the Wesley boy?' Sirius asked, with a grin. He was tipsy, but assured James he could kick it at a moment's notice when they needed to go out again.

'A contest?'

'Yep-indeedio. Krum's coming to Hogwarts this year, if I remember _co_ rrectly.'

'Why would Krum be coming to Hogwarts? He lives in Bulgaria.'

'Padfoot! Oi!'

'Oh, right. A secret. I guess you lot'll have to wait and see.' Sirius gave a mischievous smile that Harry would have taken to mean he was playing a joke on them. Would have because Harry's eyes, which had drifted to be half-lidded, snapped open suddenly. 'Harry? What's up?'

Harry sniffed the air once. Twice. Then, the iris of his left eye spun out of view, to stare through the right side of his head. He saw something, and was moving even as his mouth opened to say the word.

'DOWN!'

The world exploded.


	7. Death Eaters

**Just a quick note: re-reading this to sure up my memory a little, I've realised this chapter has some messed up stuff in it that might cross a line. Not described especially graphically or anything, but just be warned.**

-()-

Lily Evans heard the screams of her family, and the panic of whoever had seen their tent get blown to kingdom come. That meant the wards of sound-suppression had failed along with the protective wards weaved into the fabric.

From her place on the floor, Lily processed the sounds as she tried to move. She felt a pain in the back of her head, and her hand lightly touched it as she struggled to sit upright. It came back with blood on her fingers, and explained the sluggish speed with which she processed what had happened.

James and Sirius were both on their feet, wands blazing as they fired through the demolished wall on the other side of the table. Lily had been sat on one side, and the tent had been obliterated from the other. She didn't know what had happened… if James was fighting someone, that meant someone had attacked them.

But why had someone attacked them?

They were at the World Cup. Camping. Not fighting. What was going on?

Lily gingerly touched the back of her head again, as her ears rang.

She heard a yell of pain from somewhere. A male voice. But her daughters were female, so it must have been outside. Maybe James had gotten one of the people who had attacked them. Lily squinted into the dust, trying to see the man James had injured. There was dust everywhere.

Lily looked for her daughters. Amaryllis was on top of the twins, her friend Hermione was next to her, and Tonks was struggling to her feet even as James and Sirius fought their attackers. She had a wand in her hand, and looked as confused as Lily felt. Three of her daughters.

She had four daughters. Where was Mia?

Lily scrunched up her face in thought, and tried to think. Where had Mia been? The other youngsters had gone over to the comfy seats, and Sirius had joined them because he'd been drunk and thought he was one of them in that state. He'd kicked the alcohol now, Lily thought he'd told them he could do that.

James had been sat at the table with her. George had been put to bed, though, because he was tired. Had they put Mia to bed with him? They must have done… so she was in the girl's section.

The girl's section was on the side of the tent that had been hit, though.

Lily shoved herself to her feet, and tried to call for Mia as the world spun. She tripped on something, caught herself. She stumbled towards the girl's sleeping area, and then heard a whimper from a voice she knew.

 _Mia_.

Lily stumbled through the dust, as the male voice gave another sound of pain. Mia whimpered again. Who was next to her little girl?

Lily had her wand in hand, and with a sweep of it the cloud of dust was blown aside. The world spun slower, and she pointed her wand in the direction of the man's voice.

But that was James. James was holding her daughter in a sort of embrace, with his hands on her shoulders and her held away from his body.

What had happened to his face?

Harry.

Harry somehow knew she was there, and he pushed mia towards her. The girl was crying as she wrapped her arms around Lily's waist, quiet in amongst the other noises. Harry's groan of pain was louder, as he stuck a hand in his pocket. When it came out, he was holding a wand. He pointed it over his shoulder, at his back, and said something. Lily missed it, but the spell didn't do anything. Harry said the words again, but the thing in his back didn't budge.

A stake was buried in his upper back. It was level with where her daughter's head had been… Harry tried to reach over his shoulder, and his fingers just barely brushed the chunk of wood. He tried to grab it, failed, and placed the knuckles of the hand gripping his wand against the table's edge. It had stayed anchored to the floor through the attack.

Harry groaned again, and his legs shook as he tried to rise to his feet. His lips moved, and jibberish came from his lips.

-()-

'Pull it out.' Harry growled. Lily didn't seem to hear, and he repeated himself, ' _Pull it out_.' He begged. Harry couldn't concentrate enough to do any kind of complex magic. He could _yank_ it out if he had to, but that would just hurt more and leave a larger scar. He needed someone to pull it out so that he could begin to heal.

Lily continued to stare at him, and Harry groaned. It hurt. He'd had worse, but being skewered by a sharp piece of wood was nothing to laugh away. Particularly as it was sticking out the front of his torso; it had gone all the way through. He glanced as Mia, who stared at him with fear in her eyes, and debated with himself how much it would scar the girl if he asked her to pull it out. He _had_ saved her life, it seemed like a fair trade.

'Harry!' Tonks. Okay. She could do it. 'What- did you- is she-'

' _Please_ pull it out.' He was leaning against the table, arms and legs both trembling, as his body protested any movement. In a situation without James and Sirius fighting, in which he needed to begin, he would have just accepted the larger scar. But Lily was _right there_ ; what the fuck was wrong with her?

'Oh… I- yeah.' Tonks' hands were shaking, as she took hold of the stake. Harry looked through the back of his head, and saw that it was a lot thicker than would be necessary to kill a person. Had they been going for shock-value?

Harry grunted, as the pain doubled as Tonks slowly pulled the long piece of wood from Harry's body. It took her a few seconds, and those seconds felt like a lot longer as Harry bit down and managed to take a chunk of his right cheek. Fuck.

He spat out the bloody flesh as Tonks tugged the stake the rest of the way out. Another mouthful of blood followed, and then his tongue brushed against the metal that replaced his flesh. Small and quick to heal, the chunk of his chest would take longer to replace. But at least it wasn't an actual cavity; the damaged flesh would knit together and change into metal far sooner than when he lost his arm. Or when he gained large and gaping holes through his torso.

'Thanks.' Harry said, as the flesh inside his wound began to squirm and itch and then burn as it changed. He winced, took a deep breath, and did his best to ignore it. Tonks was already turned around, and her wand sent bright flashes of light alongside James' and Sirius'.

Harry snarled, and the bloody piece of wood that Tonks had left on the floor rose into the air to hover over his open hand. It rose further, pointing to their enemies like a compass, and Harry let it fly into the dust.

A cry of pain confirmed it had connected with someone, and Harry pointed his wand into the space. A bludgeoner shot through the air, and the man's next cry ended with Sirius sending a stunner into his chest.

Sirius.

Harry needed to get George, and rushed into the men's section of the tent. The boy was under his bed when Harry got inside, and the scarred teen found that he would need to tell Sirius _good job_ on teaching the boy to hide in the event that they were attacked. Luckily, George rushed out upon seeing Harry, and made a nonsensical sentence asking what was happening. Harry scooped him up, into his right arm, and left his left hand dangling so that the wound in the upper-left portion of his back would hopefully heal at a faster rate. It was incredibly quick in these circumstances, but Harry couldn't even afford to wait for the minutes it would take.

When he emerged again, Hermione, Amaryllis, Penny and Paige were all pulling Lily towards the tent's flap. They had the sense to flee. Good.

Harry caught up with them quickly, and handed George to one of the girls. He couldn't remember who, later.

Harry snuck around the corner of their tent, and through the gap between the Potters and their temporary neighbours' collapsed tent with his wand raised. The attacking wizards, in dark cloaks, were all in some form of cover. Several had shields raised to defend their attacking brethren, while others had walls in front of them. Evidently, that fucking stake had been charmed to resist magic, at least to an extent. Harry wondered who it had been meant for, as he saw it sticking out of the unconscious man's shoulder. The answer occurred to him, with the fact that it _was_ intended for _shock_ value. Harry's eyes darkened, as he raised his left hand and ignored the pain of his wound.

The nearest Wizard screamed, as his head was crushed with Harry's clenching of his fist. Complex magic may look better, and certainly had more diverse effects, but there was a benefit of the basic stuff. It was simple. Effective. Invisible. Versatile.

The Wizard with a crushed skull flew through the air, and his dead-body took the legs out of another. That man was hoisted into the air and tossed upwards. There was every chance that he had his wand and could save himself, but he was gone for the next few minutes. Harry didn't know, or care, how high he had sailed before reaching his peak.

Next, he sent a cutter into their midsts, still from his hand. He couldn't manage dark or light versions of the spell, their effects went beyond the essentially physical magics Harry could use wandlessly, but the base spell worked just fine. With a wand, this would have been more effective again, but there was no reason to go overboard. There would be no psychological effect, no matter the size, considering they were all too focussed on their own fight to worry about their comrades being split in two.

Behind him, Harry heard wizards and witches panicking and fleeing. Elsewhere, there was laughter. A hundred thousand wizards, and they were all running like cowards.

Harry's second cutting curse caught a cloaked magical in the side of the neck. Blood spurted on the person's neighbour, and that wizard or witch twisted to face Harry.

And he saw the mask. Death Eater.

That mask shattered as Harry's magic _punched_ into the person's face. What was beneath, he had no idea; the wizard's bones and flesh combined into a red paste with the force of that attack, and his magical eye was not attempting to look through to the faces beneath, but focussing with his regular orb. His spells were like to go off course, if Harry was looking in two directions at once.

Harry's wand flashed, and the ground turned to liquid below one of them, a spell he had found in the midsts of the Fourth Year curriculum, though he doubted they intended what he did next. The wizard or witch fell into the muck, and then it solidified. Harry didn't check whether the man's head was above ground or not. He was dead either way. Crushed.

He kept his wand-magic light in persuasion, sending chains into the air and then banishing them at the Death Eaters. _Hard_. Harry followed that with a rope and then a trio of metal balls. All harmless, all transfigurable.

Harry didn't even need to cast again, as they were suddenly animate. James Potter, in his world, had been a prodigy in Transfiguration. He had favoured it as a fighting style, where possible. Here too.

Harry sent a blasting curse into the ground, and debris flew into the air. It melted together, and Harry watched it's shape change into that of a hulking man. Not his work, but very impressive as spells collided with its chest and flew in the other direction under its arms. Shields were beginning to fall, now.

Even without Harry attacking from another angle, the three inside the tent had been holding their own. Harry knew Sirius' skill first hand, and he had always said that he could only beat James by cheating. Even at fifteen, Tonks had been fast with her wand, and this version was better than she had been there; Harry guessed she didn't benefit from the desperate need to improve as he did. And the tent gave them an advantage, Harry saw, as pieces of furniture transformed, or came alive, and charged into the midsts of the Death Eaters. In such a small space, transfigurations were very difficult to dodge. With such a small gap through which to send their spells, the Death Eaters couldn't make effective use of their superior numbers.

Harry sent more spells, even those from his wand being simple because he had only learned the necessities of Transfiguration and such in his old world and he could not count on untested skills in this fight, into the midsts of the Death Eaters. One managed to send a killing curse his way, only for one of his comrades to catch it as Harry yanked him into the spell's path. Harry's banisher, on the other hand, hit the Death Eater full force. Overpowered, and all. The man's head jerked back, and his neck was broken as he fell to the floor.

And then the Death Eaters started breaking off. Some this way, some that. Those that came this way found themselves battered by a barrage of rubble, and fled after their allies. James was followed by Tonks and Sirius as they exited the tent through the entrance the others had used, and chased after Lily and the others. They left unconscious or dying wizards lying where they fell.

Harry followed behind the trio. The exchange, at least from the time he had started, had taken slightly less than two minutes. Lily was moving slowly, and she and her daughters were caught within another minute.

Hermione was frustrated with herself. Harry barely knew her, but could see it written over her face as she stared at her wand from her place behind a kneeling Lily. She was trying to think of a healing spell, he guessed, but it would be one more complicated than Episkey, Harry was sure.

'Sorry, love,' James said, as he placed his wand against the head-injury, ' _Tactum Sanitas_.' he cast, and the wound quickly began to heal before their eyes. 'She'll still have a pounding headache, but the distortion and confusion'll be gone in a moment. Head for the woods, and see if you can find a Healer.'

'What?! No, we can help!' Amaryllis exclaimed.

'Probably. But you need to take your sisters and mother and get to the woods. Tonks, go with them.'

'What?! You saw I can hold my own!'

'In a tent with me and Sirius beside you. I'm not putting you at risk any more. Go with them, get to the woods, and see if you can find other youngsters. Some of them'll be wandering around confused, and Death Eaters won't think twice about attacking them, too.' His voice was strong and commanding, and left no room to argue. Tonks nodded reluctantly. 'Harry, I'm sorry, but you need to go with them, too. You're a kid, and you need to leave the fighting to Aurors and other Ministry workers.'

'Okay.' Harry said.

He wasn't going to go with them.

'Fuck!' the next voice was unexpected, as Amaryllis swore loudly, 'I don't have my wand!'

'You must've left it in the tent. Leave it, we'll try and find it when this is done.'

'I might need it! I can quickly go back and get it, and then-'

'No!' James said, with a sufficiently hard look. 'Go to the woods.'

'Here,' Harry didn't like it, but he handed his wand over to the girl, asking it to work for her, butt end first, 'I think it's got the same core, so it should be compatible.' Harry said. He had wondered about the _three_ Ollivander had spoken about, and read something in a recent-history text. She and Voldemort had the same core, and he made three.

'No,' James shook his head again, 'it'll be more use with you. I saw you casting back there, and you made good use of it.'

'I don't need it.' Harry said.

'What?' James asked, 'How can you not need it.'

Harry crouched, cupping his left hand to form a shovel shape, and jabbed it into the ground. Here, it was hard and compact, and it crumbled as his fungers crunched through it. With the large chunk of hard dirt in hand, Harry stood back up. A moment later, it rose into the air and Harry compressed it and shaped it into something the shape of a bludger. He spread his fingers, and then closed the silver digits into a fist. The ball of hard dirt flew into the sky, and Harry brushed the mud off his palm.

'You're going to teach me that. But okay.' James nodded, and sent them on the way.

There was no reason for Harry to tell him that that was not all he had up his sleeve. Three more tricks would be used to bring about the end of some Death Eaters tonight, a fourth not needed in the time that passed, and none of them would make for pleasant passings.

Harry kept pace with them for all of a hundred steps, and then told them something else.

'I'm going back.' He said, and then did just that.

'Harry! Mr Potter said-' Hermione was interrupted by Amaryllis. George, in the book-lover's arms, made an odd noise that Harry didn't feel the need to check

'Come on, Hermione!' Amaryllis' voice came after. Harry wondered if she was confident in his ability, or just in a hurry to get her sisters and George to safety. He hoped she'd be careful with his wand, and that it would defend them.

Harry scooped up a tent-pole, and snapped it over his newly-metal kneecap without missing a step. He dropped the smaller half, as he darted between the tents with meaning and determination.

It was a poor substitute for a wand, but it would _cast_ spells, if you could call it casting. More, Harry could channel complex magic through it, because it _was_ a medium even if it was a shitty one, and by swinging it like a bat could direct the magic in limited terms. Had he just pointed it, the spell would sizzle out around the pole. Movement was key to _throwing_ a spell.

Where a wand had a core to enhance a spell's stability and compress it into a single bolt of energy that wouldn't lose power as it flew through the air, this had nothing to help magic other than being something separate from Harry and being the right shape and weight to swing. Had he been strong enough, an entire tree would have been of the same amount of use, as long as whatever he was swinging was made of something that had once been alive.

It was another oddity about his metal body parts, that they didn't affect his magic.

He followed the sound of laughter through the tents, heading for the nearest Death Eaters, and found a pair standing over a dead body. They were drunk, Harry smelled over the scent of death. But that did nothing to excuse this.

He swung the pole, channeling magic into it, and an orange light leapt at the pair of Death Eaters.

 _Confringo_ was an interesting spell. Useful in more situations than one would expect. It was not explosive in itself, but caused an explosion in whatever it hit. Hit the ground? Mud, rock and dirt will rain over the area in varying quantities depending on the power behind the spell. A dueling platform? Debris will strike your opponent, doing harm and giving you material to transfigure as a follow up. A wall? Put enough power into it, and the wall will explode and potentially bring the ceiling down with it, assuming it's load bearing.

A Death Eater? In the centre of his chest? With a more powerful _Confingo_ than most people would ever consider using as they would be trying to make the spot of clothes they hit explode in fire rather than the Death Eater himself? If one was to do that, the Death Eater in question's torso would erupt in a mixture of gore and clothes and, more importantly, bone.

Shards of bone, serving as shrapnel, tore through the other Death Eater. The man beneath the mask screamed, then Harry was beside him and the man was dead with a silver blade through his screaming mouth and out the back of his head.

Harry pulled his left arm free, and the blade extending from his wrist melted back into the shape of a human hand. It was a skill he had been shocked to discover, years before, but one that was as useful as any he had. The ritual had been vague, the original owner dead before he could explain it properly, and Harry had learned as he went. Any part of his body that was metal, not flesh, could change with a thought. Swords, hammers, spikes, claws, other instruments of death. As long as it's size didn't require more than the amount of metal on that particular patch of his body. Harry, once, had even considered removing the other arm to be better prepared, but he had enough on his conscience without removing his _literal_ humanity as well as chipping away at his own soul.

He had amused Tonks with the ability, for a time, by turning his fingers into blooming silver roses. It was a reversal of her shapeshifting and his inability. Harry believed he had almost convinced her that he was getting over the loss of his hand, and the bitterness that came with the loss at that time.

Harry tore the mask off the Death Eater, and didn't recognise the face beneath. The other, and the same result. Neither were big fish, then.

Harry dropped the pole, and took the wands from their owners' corpses. Neither were especially well matched to him, but Harry had used far worse in the past. He checked the other dead Wizard's wand, but it was no better than either of the Death Eaters'. He had _some_ respect for the dead, so long as they weren't Death Eaters. No reason to take it without need.

Harry stalked into the darkness.

Next, he came across a pair of Death Eaters who were dueling two Wizards. Neither Wizard seemed to be particularly adept at fighting, and the Death Eaters were relatively skilled for those amongst their number. Harry would guess they were around the middle of the pack, one of the two more skilled than the other by a degree.

Harry, in the shadows, sent a wandless cutter into that one's centre mass. The man fell, the cries of a dying man filling the air, and the other death eater redoubled his efforts as a shield shimmered in front of him. He believed the wizards he was fighting to be responsible; understandable since wandless spells were all magic in its simplest form. Unseen. Unfortunately for the Death Eater, Harry was not in front of him. He was behind, and the chain that slammed into the back of the Dark Wizard's head was not helped any by the defense.

Both of those Death Eaters could well survive if they were given medical help in the near future. But Harry doubted that the two wizards they had been trying to kill would be willing to administer that help or contact a Healer.

Harry moved on.

Weaving through the campsite, avoiding those tents that were on fire, Harry heard screams. They, to start with, were just screams of pain. Any number of spells could be responsible, or even physical pain. Nevertheless, Harry was heading in that direction when the sound changed. Became more intense.

That was the Cruciatus Curse. Harry knew the sound of the hysterical, agonised screams better than he or anyone could ever want to. Whoever was casting it was very capable with the unforgivable.

Harry stripped naked, and stared at the moon. Not needed, but it was one of the things his wolf craved.

He fell to the floor, as agony tore through his body. And seconds later, after his skin was torn and his body twisted, Harry Potter wore the skin of a wolf. And the beast in him rejoiced, as they tore towards the scene of torture.

-()-

Pavla Angelov didn't know the girl she was about to die for. She didn't even think that the girl was from her homeland, and certainly didn't know why she had rushed to her rescue. Sure, she was cute, and Pavla didn't want to see her beauty marred by the Dark Wizards who were attacking them, but they'd been outmatched and outgunned. Pavla was good with her wand, but not exceptional. And she was only seventeen, there was no other ending this could have had. It was not a fairytale. Not a storybook. Fighting evil meant evil fought back, and you died.

She should have gone with Viktor. But she had stupidly wanted to spend a few days in England. A foul country, she decided now. Full of bastards and idiots. She wondered what her uncle would do, when he heard that she had died in this country. She hoped he would bring an army, and kill every one of the cowards hiding behind those masks.

She did not know enough English to follow what the announcer had been saying earlier, but she knew body language enough to follow now. One of them was fumbling with his robe as he spoke to the others, and received a nod for the words. Then, he stepped towards Pavla, and she saw his _cock_ , as the English called it, in his grip.

He was going to rape her.

Pavla stayed still, as the man approached. Let him think she was broken from those curses they had already placed on her. She hoped he would put it to her lips, so that she could castrate the shit.

He walked towards her legs, and knelt next to them. She felt his hands on her ankles, and decided this was the time to act.

She did not, first, go or the man's _nehnc_. She pulled her leg in close, and then snapped it straight, kicking the man in the throat and sending him to the ground. She was small, her legs did not have that much strength, but she still hoped it would kill the man. If not, she hoped he would never be able to speak and cast again. Pavla turned, and drove her foot between the man's legs, now spread as he had wanted to spread hers. She stomped on the sensitive organ and then again. Before she could land a third, a spell she knew reached her ears.

' _Crucio!_ ' the man who cast said, with more happiness in his voice, at the prospect of causing her pain, than Pavla would have thought possible. Perhaps this was what people thought of, when she told them her family name.

The pain was unimaginable. She would later find herself unable to properly describe it, but saying that it felt as though every inch of her being was on fire. But that was not enough. It was as though they had exposed every nerve in her being, coated her in accelerant, and then set her afire. As though the nerve endings did not lose their ability to feel, but became more and more sensitive as the inferno burned.

Of course, in those moments, whether hours, minutes or years she had no concept, she had no thoughts but of the pain racking her being. And one other.

Pavla Angelov, in that moment, wanted nothing more than to die.

After an eternity of moments, all worse than the one before, Pavla was free. Her body hurt and ached, but it was as soft as the touch of a feather compared to the pain seconds before. She lay on a soft bed of grass and dirt, and waited for whatever came next. Her neck protested as she looked at the pretty girl next to her. The girl's beautiful brown eyes watered as they stared back at her.

At least she had tried.

Pavla turned to look at the sky, and squeezed her eyes shut as she waited for one of them to lay hands on her.

And then she heard the screams. Had she been deaf before? How could she have missed them?

Spells were cried, as screams and wails of pain painted the picture of bloody deaths. Each lasted but a moment, before abruptly falling silent. The next would begin, then, with fear coming before the pain. With desperate curses and hexes apparently doing nothing to stop whatever demon was coming for them.

There had been eight of the English Wizards when Pavla found them torturing the pretty girl. After she had counted six screams cut short, she mustered the ability to look. If she was to die to a demon, she was only glad that it would not use her first.

Still, the sight of a wolf, as large as the stallions her father had shown her as a child, was frightful. The blood around its mouth gave no question about her savior's identity, and she wondered if this was what devils truly looked like. A wolf with grey skin and black hair, approaching the man who had tortured her, and the one who had intended to rape her.

Their voices, words she did not know, were pleading with the wolf. And then the one who had meant to rape her raised a wand.

It finished quickly, as the wolf grabbed the raper's leg between its jaws. Then the leg was dangling from its mouth, and the man was screaming as she was sure she had screamed. The torturer grabbed the wand from the raper, and the tip was alight with green light as the wolf's teeth closed on the man's left hand. She saw, as the wolf tore the torturer forwards, that the other hand had been likewise removed from his wrist.

Both men were left to die slow deaths, the wolf not making a meal of them, and the massive creature walked to Pavla.

Again, she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for death to come. She hoped it would make it quick.

And then she felt something distinctly not-painful on the underside of her wrist. Pavla opened her eyes, and stared at the creature as it sniffed at her hand. For a brief, amusing moment, she was reminded of her puppy looking for treats after a trick. Then, the moment faded as the wolf gave a huffing-bark and looked into her face. It tilted its head, confused, as Pavla stared into beautiful green eyes; they were emeralds embedded in its sockets. It blinked at her, and growled once before moving on.

She heard it go through the same process with the girl she had endured torture for, and when the wolf was done and had retreated into the shadow, Pavla heard herself sigh. She fell, supine, to the ground.

Eventually, she laughed into the quiet night around her. The giddiness came to most, after such a brush with death, and the girl near her reacted in a most similar way once Pavla had fetched her wand and released the paralysing spell.

Pavla didn't know of any other couples who had their first kiss in a scene of such carnage, but it was but it was the most lovely she had shared thus far. Of course, when their kisses were in the privacy of her new girlfriend, Amy's, tent, it would be much more fun. And it would be quite some time before the fact that they did not share a language came between them.

-()-

Harry's clothes soared into his hand, along with the pair of wands he had liberated, and he redressed himself. His wolf was happy now, would be wagging its tail had it not been a part of his mind at the moment, after being given the chance to hunt. He was glad that he had not killed either girl; it had been a long time since he'd encountered someone that wasn't a Death Eater while wearing the wolven skin, and he had only felt the uncertainty as he changed back.

Thankfully, nothing had happened. Harry had killed the Death Eaters, rather brutally, and left the… damsels alive and unharmed.

Fully dressed again, Harry made a note of the fact that his back-wound had filled with metal. Changing did… something. It wasn't the first time he'd sped the healing by changing, and Harry had two explanations of why. Either it kickstarted his magic, entirely possible, or it was the fact that, as a wolf, the silver spread over him to become grey skin.

Harry moved in the direction another set of screams, not cruciatus but involving Death Eaters, at a quick pace. As he did, he cast a simple and slightly overpowered spell on the wooden pole of a tent. It worked, eventually, with the wand he used, and Harry decided the best way was to gather up the transfigurations before he got to the Death Eaters.

When he arrived, it became abundantly clear that Harry had, somewhere along the way, gotten his sense of direction mixed up.

He had not meant to come back to where he had started. Because, of course, this was where the Aurors were fighting as a unit against a higher number of Death Eaters. Well, what would be a quite significantly higher number of Death Eaters, if not for the fact that a portion were distracted with their _play_.

Roughly twenty Death Eaters watched one of their number, as he used the _Imperius_ curse on the Muggle Harry had seen on Saturday as they entered the campsite. The man, a puppet of the Death Eater, was atop a girl. His daughter. Both were crying, and the Aurors were screaming at them to stop. They were frenzied, desperate, and that meant they were unable to properly fight the Death Eaters they faced.

Harry had seen them do worse. He wished he hadn't, the sight before him made bile and fury rise up in equal measure, but he had. And that meant he did not start throwing spells at the Dark Wizards. He stuck to the plan he had.

After all, he had already transfigured the spikes of metal from the tent poles he'd collected. The theory had been no different to transfiguring a match into a needle, it had just been on a grander scale and required more intent, power and focus.

The six weapons hovered in the air above him for fifty seconds, as Harry mapped out the path for each. He decided he needed to work on this; it was something he could do, for one spike, while Death Eaters died, but a single spike carving a path through the bastards would mean that they started throwing curses either his way or at the Muggles themselves.

Harry's actions were stopped for another dozen seconds when he saw a woman on the floor, staring at him, behind one of the Death Eaters. She was one of the magical mascots from Bulgaria's side, but was far less beautiful now; her face was bruised and bloody and her clothes were torn. Only one of her eyes could open far enough to look at him. Harry wondered how many of the Death Eaters had raped her before they moved on to this brand of disgusting.

And then, as Death Eaters hollered encouragements to the Muggle, Harry's metal spears flew.

They were too quick for any eye except the one in Harry's left socket to follow. Had they been expecting such a dishonourable attack, or been ready at a moment's notice to defend, some of the Death Eaters probably would have survived. They could have used a more complex shield to cover their heart from the back, front and sides or they could have just left when their comrades were run through by long, metal spikes.

As it was, none were ready.

They were unaware as the spikes floated in the sky above them, and when Harry closed his fist and they followed the paths he had chosen there was not enough time to stop what had already happened. The twenty stood in a rough circle and, so, each spike only had to go through three Death Eaters, one after another.

The first died with the spike coming through his shoulder from above. It stabbed through the soft flesh next to his collarbone easily, and was through his heart and out of his left side in the blink of an eye. That spike then connected with the Death Eater next, anticlockwise, in the circle. It entered through his armpit, and burst out the other with a spray of blood. The next Eater was still unaware, and died in the same way. But the one after him, knowing what was coming, twisted and allowed the projectile to stab through his front. The final targets, two of them, raised their wands and their mouths were halfway through incantations when the spike pierced the first's heart and the second less than a second after.

And, in six other groups of almost the same pattern, the other Death Eaters perished. Harry let four spikes fall to the floor, turning back into the wooden poles they had been to start with, and then the final two Death Eaters died with the metal spears buried between their eyes. The one who had been controlling the Muggles fell to the floor in time with all the others, and the Muggles cried as Mother held her daughter in a comforting embrace. The Father scrambled away and the Son, likewise distraught, quickly moved over and the family sat still. Harry wondered what they thought had just happened; how could they rationalise this?

Hopefully the Obliviator would be good at his job.

Harry dropped to a knee, and felt the magic he had used over the course of the day take a sudden toll on him. He had far larger reserves than average, but they were far from infinite; most of what he had done today only took shallow amounts of, but casting six spells at once built up even when they were small magics.

He was only there for a moment, but it was enough to miss the exact moment that the tide shifted in the Auror-Death Eater conflict. It seemed that most of the Death Eaters were either intoxicated or out of practice. Both, in some cases. The Aurors were always going to win but, in this case, they didn't even seem to be taking losses. Harry could guess as to why. The Killing Curse wasn't difficult to cast, in any technical sense. It took a decent bit of energy, but that was a fair exchange for it being unstoppable by shield and being a spell that would put your opponent down for good.

What was difficult about the spell, was the mindset. You had to be absolutely determined to see the other man dead, or he would just send a curse back at you. You had to be absolutely focused on using the spell itself, or you'd find yourself stunned and bound a moment later. You had to be absolutely clear of mind, or your more determined opponent would send his own Killing Curse at you without the same failure.

And none of them were of a clear enough mind, or a resolute enough disposition, to use it. The number of Death Eaters that had been able to fire the curse off without hesitation had been small, and had been made up of the most ruthless and cold of them all. And Bellatrix, but to Harry she was an exception in that she hated everyone and everything around her and wanted them all to fall. Those that would get drunk and rowdy and start raping and pillaging were not the type to be so gifted in the art of taking lives.

Harry raised a finger to his lips, as he looked at the unnatural beauty staring at him, turned, and left the Aurors to do their jobs.

He was already heading for the woods when the Dark Mark appeared in the sky. Harry's anger flashed again, but there was nothing apparent to vent it upon when he reached the scene. Amaryllis didn't cast it, and the little elf clutching her wand sure as hell wasn't responsible. Harry didn't find anyone who might have done it, as he scanned the area with his eye, but he thought he smelled… something. He was stopped from investigating with his magical eye by Mia's grip on his hand, and Harry stayed with the group until everything had been solved.

He wondered, idly, if any of the Death Eaters he'd encountered were still alive. His attacks hadn't all been undeniably fatal, after all.

And the only regret Harry had was not getting to use any other neglected abilities. The campsite was a large area, and even if he had chosen to risk drawing more attention it would have been tricky for Harry to find any of the other Death Eaters.

Even if one of the things Harry knew incredibly well, rituals, would have been utterly useless here, he could surely have gotten his hands on a Death Eater long enough to use the oldest item in his bag of tricks.


	8. Train, Rabbit, Hat, Writing

**I'm sorry, guys. Hardly seems worth saying that at this point, I keep doing the same effin thing. But, yeah. Sorry. I don't mean to forget about these stories (I really don't) but I seem to have a nasty habit of leaving it for a few months.**

 **Well, just a reminder that I don't own anything you recognise and that I make no profit from this.**

-()-

Harry had expected to have been called to the Ministry before they went to school. He had been involved in the events of the cup, even if they had no way of knowing how much he had done. Initially, he had used his wand. But, James had confided in him, they had greater things to worry about. The fact that there had been such a large number of Death Eaters there, Harry had only met a fraction before the Mark scared them away, had sent waves through the Wizarding World. It was not a drunken joke, as the Prophet had been ordered to portray, but something that must have been long planned, even if the Death Eaters had made the mistake of celebrating their spotlight prematurely.

And then there was the matter of the carnage that had been found in amongst the midsts of the campsite. Fudge had officially given credit to an unnamed Auror, and said that it was unfortunate that such measures had been necessary, but the almost-raped girls had given their own statements abroad. Other than a bit of bad mouthing the government for being stupid enough to let it happen, they had given details about their saviour- "a big fucking wolf" was the rough translation.

Harry wondered when, and if, it would be linked to him and what the fallout would be from those whose children he hadn't saved. It appeared that the adults had collectively reached the conclusion, but apparently his saving Mia's life, and getting George when Sirius couldn't, did quite a bit to make up for sins on Harry's part.

Plus, they had suddenly had something else to think about when, on August 29th, Remus' wife went into Labour. It was quite a drawn out birth, and the Potter parents still had not recovered fully when they took Harry, Hermione, and their children to the station.

Standing on the platform, his eyes on the glorious scarlet train, Harry twirled his wand on the palm of his right hand. If wands could be offended, his seemed to be. According to Amaryllis she had only even used it twice, after Harry begged his best to ask it to work for her, and his wand was one that wanted to fight. Built for a warrior, with the wood, and one with considerable power, with the core.

Although Harry may well have been imagining things. After all, he was getting more and more eager every day to be able to use wand-magic without restriction. And with each day, it was getting increasingly frustrating that he was not allowed to even practise harmless spells.

He would need to read through most of the books again, at this rate, if he wanted to commit the spells properly to memory.

Which reminded him of another decision he had made. Veela, and their kind, could attract Wizards with Allure. The beautiful women had been Veela, and Harry had very nearly fallen prey to their charms. Scratch that. He had fallen pray, only for some part of him to convince him to shatter his knee cap so as to regain his senses.

Harry was deeply irritated that he could throw off the Imperius curse, yet some pretty women could get the better of him. _Pathetic_ , had been the word that ran through his mind. Veela were unexplored in the books Dumbledore had given him; Harry would search the school library, supposedly one of the largest in Europe, and find an answer to the problem. There would be some technique, somewhere, that he could practise.

Neither Lily nor James seemed sure how to say goodbye to him. Their behaviour had been equal parts uncertain and pleasant since the World Cup. Harry could guess why. He'd saved their daughter, and then he'd gone out and slaughtered Death Eaters. The first would be why they were becoming kinder and more caring and grateful, but the second just highlighted the fact that they knew him no better than Harry knew them. He was not their son, they were not his parents. But he looked like he could be their son, and they looked exactly like his parents.

They had already hugged everyone else, Lily getting teary as she bade the twins goodbye and James subtly wiping away his own tear after giving each a long bearhug. Amaryllis had gone many times by now, and so only gained a loving hug, kind words, and a kiss on each cheek. And a promise extracted, by Lily, to cause less trouble, and from James to cause mayhem.

Now the two stood in front of Harry. It was the first time that he had noticed he and James stood at eye-level to each other, and that Lily was a head shorter. That was strange. Harry had always pictured his parents as he would have seen them as child, because he had thought about them more at that age. He wondered how that Harry would respond to this situation, and knew he wouldn't be able to emulate the tears and happiness. Couldn't bring himself to open his heart to them. Once, he'd craved his parents and their love more than anything, but the fact was that Harry Potter had grown up faster than anyone he had ever met. A desperate need for affection was of no use when he was fighting, even if it might have helped at this point, and he had done his utmost to leave it behind.

Still, though, Harry was half tempted to hug them. More than half. He wanted desperately to embrace them, but he wouldn't. He knew he wouldn't, just as he knew neither of them would hug him. In another circumstance he might think _maybe next time_. But he didn't do that, either, because it wouldn't be true. He wasn't their son and, as he aged, would fit the image less and less.

Perhaps they would care about him like he was… what did they say? A cousin? Some family member that they had only learned of recently, but who _was_ family. Gratitude and warmth would probably combine into something along those lines. And, anyway, Harry was deeply fond of their family already. He was going to school with three of them, and would do everything he could to watch out for their daughters.

James hadn't asked to be shown Wandless magic yet, and Harry honestly found that more surprising than the unsurpassable distance between them.

'Thanks for having me.' Harry smiled at them, doing his best to be warm and being half confident that he was growing better at it. Their smiles were shaky, as both seemed determined to say something to him before Eleven 'O'Clock arrived. They had fifteen minutes and Harry noticed that their family, and Hermione, were aware that the two parents were uncertain what sentiments they should express.

Harry's magical eye drifted across the crowd, as his other stayed on the Potters. He saw the Malfoys, and found that Lucius seemed uninjured. Based on what Harry knew of the man, it wasn't his style to be in a stunt like that of the World Cup's fiasco. Plan it, certainly, but not participate himself.

And then there were the Weasleys. Arthur was glaring at Lucius Malfoy even as Harry looked his family over. He wanted to spot what was wrong with the picture. He had been told of the younger children, seen them when the Weasleys first showed up in the midst of the war, but never spoken to them. Something had happened with the only woman with them; she had been injured and a man Harry couldn't see at the moment, Prewitt, he thought was the name, had had taken her and some of her sons abroad. He had been missing an arm, and had been barely able to cast, according to Remus. Arthur had stayed, had hoped that he could protect his family by helping end the war, and three of his children had stayed. Bill, Charlie, and Rowena. Harry still didn't understand why the girl had remained. Charlie had been the first to die, then his only sister, then his father, and finally his brother. Harry was fairly certain that the other Weasleys had already been dead by that point, but Arthur had never shown him any doubt about his family's continued existence. He might not have been able to muster up the courage to fight, had he believed they were dead.

The girl with them looked different from Rowena. The same base features, but a different girl. Shorter and thinner. Harry had always thought Arthur's daughter had looked mannish, and he certainly thought her unattractive. Not that he had said as much, he had never had a reason to be so rude to her, after all. This girl looked to be the youngest member of her family, standing with a slightly bored expression as a tall, dark haired man with a slightly pudgy son talked to her father; she also looked attractive enough. Pretty, would be the word.

Harry very nearly broke into a grin, as he remembered the discussion that Hermione and Amaryllis had been having. He had never much liked Rowena, she had come across as petty and jealous of Nymphadora during their brief interactions. This Ronald was apparently the same, arrogant and borderline unpleasant, and it amused Harry that they were one and the same, if his theory was correct.

Harry wondered, then, if that made Amaryllis his parallel. His magical eye moved to her, and Harry strongly doubted it. He was very sceptical that he would make such an attractive girl.

After the girl-who-lived, Harry's eyes roamed the platform. The Potters and their group were attracting many glances, pointing fingers accompanying them in many cases, and Harry wondered if they were all due to Amaryllis' apparent celebrity. She had moaned about it in earnest, making it perfectly clear that she detested the fame and that there was a lot of it, but Harry was sceptical. Not that she attracted attention, he had seen references to her in the recent history books he had read and they all painted a grand picture even if half of their content was rubbish, but that it could still be so extreme.

The Potters had come to the Platform every year, surely, since she had started at Hogwarts. So why would there be so much interest now?

Lily's small arms wrapped Harry in a hug, as she spoke, and Harry found himself shocked that she had crossed the empty space between them with such ease.

'Thank you, Harry. If you hadn't done what you did, Mia…' She was sincere, as she spoke. Harry wondered whether she had made the decision to ignore the more awkward choices, and instead focus on Harry's first action in the World Cup's fiasco.

He found himself half-hugging her back, awkwardly returning the gesture, 'You're welcome,' he said, 'of course. You raised a good daughter in her.' He said, guessing at what would be the proper response in this situation. He meant it, but it felt awkward to say; he was only a teenager, after all.

Lily smiled as she let him go. 'We did.' There was more melancholy in those words than Harry had expected. He didn't know the underlying meaning.

James clapped him on the shoulder, smiled, and said, 'If you need us at any point, don't hesitate to write. And Remus and Sirius both told me to remind you that they've said the same.' Both had told Harry as much a few days before, because they would be unable to come to the station; Remus was still with his wife in Hospital, and Sirius was non-specific, but it had involved his son's mother and he had not seemed thrilled.

The Potters had already given a warm farewell to Hermione, and had told all of the others to write, and they had been hesitating in saying goodbye to Harry. As a result, people had long-since begun streaming onto the scarlet train by the time Harry followed the others on board.

He wondered, as he was lead to a compartment that was, surprisingly, empty, what Hogwarts would be like. He had been told many stories about the school, but how much of it was exaggeration from nostalgic adults, he didn't know. As Harry placed their trunks in the rack, and took a seat, he lifted the book he had out especially, and began to read. Some of the spells in this particular book were… tricky. It was his third read-through, as he tried to wrap his head around the method of directing transfigured animals.

Supposedly, they responded to one's intention even after they were out of the wand, because they were creations of one's magic. If the book was correct, it meant that wizards and witches only called instructions to their creations to prevent them from following the order of a stray thought.

It was something he would have trouble grasping before he could actually practice. And that brought him to another train of thought.

'Are we allowed to use magic on the train?' Harry asked Hermione and Amaryllis. Amaryllis sat opposite him, leaning her right side against the wall, and Hermione was on his side with a seat separating them. She had sprawled parchment over that seat, and was apparently pouring over the homework she had done over summer.

'Yes.' Amaryllis said, with a look of interest.

'No, we're not!' Hermione objected, with her own answer, a moment later. She shot a look of object horror at Amaryllis, and the Potter girl laughed at her friend's scandalised expression.

'Well, we aren't, but it's not the _Ministry_ that's forbidding us. Just Prefects.' Amaryllis explained, with a smile.

'I'm sorry, what are prefects?' Harry asked, confused.

'Hm. They are… students who have been given a title and been told to tell off _troublemakers_.' Amaryllis said, in a slightly mocking tone. Hermione _harrumphed_ , and looked unhappy with the tone of her friend's description. But she didn't give her own, so Harry guessed it was accurate.

'So they'll, what? Give me a detention?' Harry asked.

'Or take points! Although that's only if they're in your house… and you don't have a house yet, do you?' Hermione tried to prove that Prefects were important, and seemed to realise she had failed.

'No. I'm sorry, what are houses?' Again, Harry felt like this was common knowledge. Then, he remembered the stories about _Slytherins_ from Sirius when he was younger, 'Oh, wait- you mean Gryffindor and Slytherin?'

'And Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.' Hermione nodded. 'The house of the brave, the house of the cunning, the house of the wise, and the house of the loyal.'

'But not exclusively. I can think of exceptions to the supposedly defining trait of all the houses.' Amaryllis said, with a smirk, 'Not that there's anything wrong with being a little… timid, or anything.' She quickly amended, with a grimace, 'But… well, there are some people in our House I certainly wouldn't call brave. And there are definitely dumb ravenclaws and snide Hufflepuffs. And Slytherin just seems to be full of jerks, for the most part.'

'It's not nice to generalise.' Hermione frowned at Amaryllis.

'I wasn't,' the accused girl returned the expression, 'I was correcting the generalisation.'

'Not with Slytherin.'

'Slytherin doesn't count.'

'You're just saying that because you hate Malfoy.'

'I hate all of them. They're a bunch of wankers.' Amaryllis said, in quite unladylike language and tone.

'You don't-'

'Will you hate us, if we get sorted into Slytherin?' Paige asked, frowning at her sister with quite real concern.

'Of course not,' Amaryllis shook her head, 'I would never-'

'Aha! So you don't " _hate_ all Slytherins", then.'

'They aren't Slytherins! They're my sisters!'

'But you just said you won't hate them if they get sorted there.'

'If the hat's malfunctioning and decides to put them there, then I won't hate all Slytherins! But, until that happens, I _do_!'

'How can you possib- oh, wow…' Hermione trailed off, as Harry transfigured his shoe.

Harry had already gotten used to the bickering of the girls. It seemed to indicate the opposite of dislike, but they did it a lot. More than James and Sirius, even. Deciding his attention would be better focused elsewhere, Harry had taken a shoe off, and begun attempting transfiguration. Apparently conjuration was more tricky, and there had been a small warning in one paragraph that they occasionally exploded when one didn't know what one was doing. Plus, he might've failed to catch the conjuration and that would have been unfortunate.

Harry held his shoe in his left hand, and tapped it with his blackthorn wand. He knew the theory well by now; it was all about visualisation of the process. He imagined his shoe changing shape, and it shuddered in his hand. It didn't change shape, though, and Harry frowned at the defiant piece of attire.

He tapped it again, and again his shoe just shimmied in his hand. Harry twirled the wand between his fingers as he tried to discern the mistake he'd made, and wondered if he wasn't pouring enough magic into it. Perhaps he needed to visualise the change with greater accuracy than that. Or maybe he needed to focus to a greater degree; he could still hear them bickering on the edge of his senses.

Retrospect made geniuses of all, and all Harry could do in the future was learn not to make the same mistake again. Even if he would still do it on occasion.

Putting an unnecessary amount of power into the transfiguration that he was focussed on entirely with a clear picture in his mind, Harry tapped the shoe with his wand and felt his magic flow through the wand in his hand. Harry's wand felt happy to be performing magic, even if Harry sensed, or imagined, that it was displeased this was the spell its owner had chosen. Maybe it sabotaged him on purpose, but Harry was rather confident his mistake was to blame.

Like a muggle magician performing for a crowd, Harry found a bunny rabbit dangling from his grip, his hand under its forepaws as the creature stared at him.

It was very large.

And very pink. Why was it pink? He had pictured a white rabbit.

The thing's ears twitched with its nose, and it stared back at Harry while Harry stared at it. Man and rabbit had a battle of wills. And then the creature sneezed. Harry found that there was a smile on his face, as Penny made a long sound of adoration.

' _Awwww…_ it's so… chubby!' She announced, with another sound like the first. Was it chubby? The only rabbits he had seen were in some of the muggle children's books, and all of them had looked this way. But white.

Harry waved his wand at the animal, and it floated out of his grip and into the air. He had expected the rabbit to be panicked at the sensation, but the creature just tumbled end over end in the air, demeanor calm as could be, as Harry floated it over to sit between the twins. Paige made a noise too, now, as she stroked a finger along its back. The rabbit seemed to enjoy that, by the way it nudged the girl's thigh.

'That's a very well formed transfiguration, Harry,' Hermione stared at it, but without the warmth of the other two girls; instead, her expression was clinical.

Harry looked at Amaryllis, who was looking at him with a slightly shocked expression. Harry hoped it was the success, and not the choice, that drew the expression from her.

' _Jump_.' Harry commanded. The rabbit leaped onto Penny's lap, and the girl _coo_ ed again as she softly stroked it. Harry felt Hermione watching him and the rabbit with equal interest, as Harry used a verbal instruction again.

' _Climb_.' He instructed the bunny. It did, with a little trouble, clamber up the front of Penny's shirt.

Harry's original plan at this stage had been to tell it to _attack_ , and mentally command it to cuddle with the girl. He re-assessed that intention, and shook his head. It was possible that it would respond to his verbal command if he didn't get the mental command right.

Instead, Harry said, in his mind, _Jump_. The rabbit stayed still, and Harry scratched his chin. _Jump_ , he tried to tell it again. It just made itself comfortable on Penny's shoulder, as the girl's twin stroked it again. _Jump_. Still nothing. Harry felt a hint of annoyance at his creation, and then at himself. It had been a good first experiment, even if he couldn't get the rabbit to obey thought commands.

It was meant to be an advanced skill, anyway; Harry had rarely seen it done, as far as he could remember. If he had to guess, he'd say it was because conjured animals tended to be more dangerous than bunnies, and if they disobeyed there was a possibility of being mauled.

Harry regretted making a rabbit, now; they were becoming attached to it, and Harry had lost a shoe for its creation. If he got his shoe back, the twins would miss their new friend, and, even if Harry knew it would not last, it seemed a bad move to cancel the spell too soon.

He should have used the right shoe, not the left; his left foot was still largely made of flesh, and would want for the item more than his right would have. Oh, well. Maybe it would be amusing when the rabbit turned back into his shoe.

Harry looked around, but found little else to transfigure. He could use the evil cat hissing at the rabbit, or Hermione's papers, but the girl seemed attached to both. He looked at his remaining shoe, and thought better of that, too.

He could conjure something, even just some raw materials, but he was hesitant. That warning stood out in his mind, and Harry had just demonstrated that his spells tended to be _bigger_ than most people's. His accidental explosion would be, too.

'So, when are you going to teach me some Wandless magic?' Amaryllis asked, smirking at Harry with a look of interest, almost excitement, in her eyes, 'We can get started now, right?'

Harry returned the half-smile, 'First of all, you're going to summon your wand.' he said, 'Then I'll start teaching you other things.' Harry told her. It would take some time to learn that first step, and it was one he could only help with so much; it was the way a caster had to become familiar with the nature of that spell.

'How do I do that?' Amaryllis shifted in her seat, and Harry noticed Hermione was leaning forward slightly, listening intently.

'Raise your wand,' Harry gave the first step. He didn't get to say the second, as Amaryllis narrowed her eyes at him.

'If you just tell me to put it down and then summon it, we're gonna have a problem.' She told him, nearly threateningly.

'No. First, you're going to summon something without using the movements,' the Accio charm usually wanted the upper half of a circle to be made with the wand. Magic formed into purpose easier with wand movements, but they weren't necessary; a person needed to be very familiar with the spell, but their magic could learn to form the effect when that had been achieved. 'I promise, that's the best first step. You're learning this with your own wand, it would be stupid not to make use of the advantage.'

'That's not possible, though.' Hermione said, as though correcting his mistake. When he looked at her, she was frowning. There was a hint of condescension.

That was easy to solve. Harry raised his wand, and the rabbit flew across the room with a squeak. He wondered if Hermione had not noticed the lack of wand-motions when he had levitated the pink-creature earlier. This time, she definitely did, as Harry floated it into the air and back to the twins.

'Magic forms memory,' Harry explained, as best he could, 'when you cast a spell enough, your magic knows it like second nature.' He was paraphrasing, but that was more or less what his mentor had told him, years before. Well, it had the gist of it.

'You mean I can cast other spells like that? The Patronus? _Expelliarmus_? _Protego_?' Amaryllis asked, voice eager.

'You can cast Protego without a wand. Not the others, though you can recreate the Disarming spell to an extent,' he said, feeling the need to be thorough. Harry didn't mention the fact that "recreating _Expelliarmus_ " meant a well-aimed Banisher that would likely break the person's wrist. 'It's… complicated. Basically, there are certain spells that are _simpler_ in nature, than others, and those are the ones you can use. As a basic rule, you can use the spells that don't have a light. Summoning, levitating, banishing.'

'But, you said the shield spell would work?' Hermione asked, or criticised.

'Yeah, it's only a basic rule,' Harry didn't like teaching, 'Transfiguration doesn't work, either, and that doesn't have a light,' he let out a mouthful of air, and tried again. 'Think of it like this: spells that just, sort of, use your magic as it is, you can use. Or, the ones that use it as something like a physical force… it isn't possible to use spells that change your magic, and make it do something more than what can be done physically. Magic needs to go through a medium to change like that.'

'So it's just moving things with your mind? Like telepathy?' Amaryllis asked.

'Telekinesis,' Hermione corrected, seemingly unconsciously.

'I… not quite, but that's as good an understanding as you'll have until you get to know the feeling yourself.' Harry said. It wasn't that. Magic in Wizards was only a step above the raw, ambient magic of the world; that magic, without being changed with the unique ability of Wizards to alter its inherent attributes, could be directed only to certain tasks. Wizards couldn't channel those changes through the air, what would they need wands if they could, and it was that simple. Or… simple to Harry. He imagined it went against everything they had been taught about magic.

Amaryllis seemed willing to accept it, but her bushy-haired friend did not. Hermione opened her mouth again, no doubt to argue, but it snapped shut and she twisted in her seat as a new voice spoke.

'Granger,' Ron-not-Rowena said from the doorway, 'good to see you in one piece. Have a good holiday, Potter?' The question was in a more pleasant tone, yet he still used her last name.

'Pretty good for the most part, how about yours, _Weasley_?' Amaryllis put extra emphasis on the word, and Ron grinned at her.

'I'm not sayin' your name. Bloody mouthful, it is,' he said, still grinning, 'and yeah, it was alright.' Ron frowned, though, and then corrected himself, 'Although we were at the World Cup when those… yeah, showed up.'

'Us too.' Amaryllis said, and then smirked, 'I bet that made your experience of seeing the _mighty Krum_ a bit sour, huh?'

Ronald reddened, but his grin was quick to return, 'Not a chance. You see it? He was fucking incredible! The way he moved in the air… it was like nothing I've ever seen, and when he pulled that Wronski Feint!'

Amaryllis laughed at him, and nodded, 'Pretty impressive, yeah. You were in the Top Box, weren't you? Get an autograph, or were you too busy blushing?'

Ronald laughed himself, but he was redder still, 'I figured he'd be annoyed if I asked.'

'Aw, well that's a shame. I guess you'll just have to live with the memory of his smell,' she smirked at the red-faced boy, and Ronald coughed out a laugh. 'Unless you followed him back into the Locker Room? Maybe got a couple of pictures of him in the shower?'

'Piss off,' Ronald shook his head but the words were good-natured. Harry guessed they'd had this conversation before, 'besides, it sounds like you're the only girl who I couldn't sell it to. Well, you and Mandy in Ravenclaw.' Ronald nodded to Hermione, who was beginning to blush, and then to the twins on his right who were bright red too. The rabbit was being neglected, on Paige's shoulder.

'Fuck you! I'm not gay!'

Ronald laughed loudly, as Amaryllis slapped her hands over her mouth, staring at the open door in horror. 'I think I won this round,' he said, making to leave the room. Only then did Ronald's eyes land on Harry. 'Oh. You're… I kind of figured that crazy bint was exaggerating…'

Harry shifted, as the boy stared at him. He frowned, able to guess what was attracting Ronald's attention, but not who he spoke of.

'I mean, with everything else… it made sense… shit, mate…' Ronald looked deeply uncomfortable with the scars on Harry's face, and his eyes found the bare, metal hand a few moments later. His grimace grew, and Harry waited for a more coherent sentence. 'Y'know, half the people in the school almost buy what they're writing in the Prophet about you? Ron, by the way, Ron Weasley.'

'Harry.' Harry said, 'Nice to meet you. What's being written about me?' The Prophet… he remembered reading the papers with that name while he was in the Ministry. For the most part they seemed to be decently written articles, though it was hardly a stretch to believe that the stories, aimed to attract readers, would devolve into a farce.

'That the Potters are claiming you're from another universe?' Ron grinned, his expression still torn between amusement and sympathy.

Harry raised an eyebrow, 'Huh. I wonder where they'd get that idea from,' he said. Harry didn't know why the Potters would lie to him about their decision not to give his actual story, and was reluctant to believe that they would. Not that it would make much difference if people knew.

'It's Skeeter, isn't it? She's barmy on the best of days.' Ron said, with a shrug and a smile. 'It's up there with the most creative of her stories, o'course, but she's written worse. It's not like…' Ron trailed off, as another voice said something in the corridor outside. Harry didn't hear the words themselves over the rumble of the magical engine, but the tone was snarky and snide. 'Piss off, Malfoy!' the redhead shouted, suddenly.

'Not again…' Hermione muttered under her breath, as the voice said something else. Harry heard "second hand" but nothing else specific. He wondered where the speaker was, that it was so muffled. Presumably, down the corridor a ways.

Ron, or Ronald, shoved his hand in his pocket, and drew his wand a second later. He brandished it, ducking away from the open doorway, and an orange spell passed through the space that he'd been occupying a few moments before. Ron sent his own spell back, a gold light, with a bark of ' _Furnunculus_!'

That was the Pimple Jinx, if Harry remembered correctly. Harmless, mostly, as were the majority of jinxes. That meant their fight was insignificant, then. Harry turned his magical eye on the wall beyond which the other party, Malfoy, was presumably stood. The blond boy, who had been stood with Lucius Malfoy on the two occasions Harry saw him, was sending equally harmless jinxes at Ron. It was barely even a duel, just two boys sending humiliating jinxes back and forth; neither had even erected a shield.

By the time they had moved on to throwing a few hexes at each other, and landing one or two spells each, people had started ducking their heads out into the corridor to watch what was going on.

'OI! No dueling on the train!' A voice yelled at the two, as an older boy came marching down the corridor from behind Malfoy. 'Malfoy! Weasley! Get back in your carriages, and I'll be telling you Heads of House about this!'

Both quickly moved aside, as the tall dark haired boy, with a scowl seemingly as a permanent fixture on his face, continued. 'And nobody cancel the spells! Let them learn for being idiots before we even get to school!'

'I guess Jeffries was made Head Boy,' Amaryllis commented, as the boy stormed past their compartment, as though chasing Ron down the corridor as the red haired boy scampered away with sardines falling out of his nose. She looked amused at the thought, as another pair of red haired boys suddenly appeared in the doorway. For some reason, the identical Weasleys were crouched low and staring after the retreating form of Jeffries.

'Ladies,' one said.

'Gentleman,' the other continued, with a nod towards Harry.

'And all things in between,' the first said again, prompting Amaryllis to show them her middle finger. The two then vanished, racing along the corridor with determined expressions.

'I wonder what they're going to do,' Amaryllis said, with a smile, 'and whether they'll come out on top when they do it.'

'Jeffries was one of their favourite targets even when he was a Prefect. They're going to wage a war on him, aren't they?' Hermione asked, with a look of trepidation.

'Definitely.' said Amaryllis.

'Was he in Gryffindor?' Paige asked, after the Head Boy.

'Yep. All the Weasleys are, too.'

'Oh…'

'No need to worry. They're nice enough when you get to know them. Just don't eat anything the twins offer you, and you'll be fine.'

Hermione reinforced that statement, and the girls gave a few examples of products the Weasley Twins had come up with. They called them Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which Harry did not understand, and they were quite impressive, if he was honest. A biscuit that changed the eater into a large canary, a sweet that made the tongue grow to a ridiculous length, and wands that apparently turned into rubber chickens. The twin Potters nodded, paying close attention and heeding the warnings, but laughed softly at some of the examples.

The next event that occurred wasn't likely to provoke laughter. And would give the school a poor opinion of Harry from the start.

The first voice that reached Harry was female, angry, and known to him, 'Oh, _fuck you_!' Tonks yelled at someone. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the others in his compartment take note at the shift in his posture.

'You don't get to speak to me like-' another voice Harry knew, though he was uncertain whose it was, yelled back at nearly the same volume.

'Like _what_?! Like you're a little shit?! Like you're a perverted bastard who should be on some kind of registry?!'

'I am Head-'

'Head Boy? Yeah, you mentioned that! Like it makes you less of a slimy bastard!' Nymphadora's voice was heated, as she spoke to the Head Boy. Harry wanted to know what this _Jeffries_ had done to her, and kept listening as they grew closer. Unconsciously, he leant forwards, 'Because Dumbledore put a fucking badge on you, I'm meant to forget that you're a piece of-'

'Stop swearing on this train! There are children on board!' Jeffries ordered her, 'They don't need to know about your imagined slights!'

' _IMAGINED_?!' Tonks' voice raised to a new decibel, and Harry winced as his sensitive ears suffered, 'Is it _imagined_ that you spread fucking rumours about me?! Is it _imagined_ that you claimed you fucked me in the arse, when I told you I didn't want to shag you?! Is it _imagined_ that you claimed I started _CUTTING MYSELF_ after you broke it off?! Is it _imagined_ that the whole fucking school heard about it, and that there was an _investigation_ about whether I needed help?!'

Jeffries was silent, and Harry was on the edge of his seat. Holding himself back. Just rumours, there was no reason to react for that.

'I should _curse your cock off_ , you piece of shit!'

'Put your wand away, Tonks.'

'Don't you _fucking dare_ call me that.'

'Nymphadora, you're overreacting. There isn't any need to escalate this, but if you don't stop pointing your wand at me, I'll have to defend myself.' Jeffries sounded angry, but his voice was quite quiet.

'LIke you _could_.' Nymphadora spat back.

' _Nymphadora_ …' Jeffries warned. Harry looked through the wall, and saw why; Nymphadora's wand tip was glowing a dangerous shade of purple, pointing at the boy's crotch, even as her hair turned an equally dangerous, fiery red. The boy pointed his own back at her.

Harry was in the corridor by the time spells were fired.

He later understood what Nymphadora meant, when she said that the Head Boy wouldn't be able to get her. His stinging Hex missed her by a significant margin, as Tonks dodged aside. Her's, however, caught him in the chest, and the boy was thrown backwards into the air with his hair rapidly receding.

But he didn't reach the ground, as Harry's wand flashed.

Jeffries flew past Nymphadora, as Harry summoned him, and the boy's face read of confusion as Harry clenched his fist. His left fist. He was sorely tempted… but no.

Harry's next spell hit the boy in the stomach, and Jeffries seemed to hang in mid air, as the bludgeoning hex fought the summoner. Then, the Head Boy snapped back, and slammed into the floor with considerable force and whiplash.

Harry was next to him a second later, and had his hand around Jeffries' throat. He lifted the boy, and slammed him against the wall with a snarl, as the boy's head bounced off the wood.

Harry placed his wand under Jeffries' chin, watching the boy squirm as he stared into Harry's scarred face and the magical eye therein. Harry noticed the boy would be slightly taller than him, were he able to stand without Harry supporting his weight.

'Never do that again.' Harry said, voice quiet. 'Or I will take away your ability to hold a wand.' Jeffries gave no reply, but for a widening of his eyes.

Harry decided he needed clarification on the methods that would be used and, letting the boy fall to the floor in a heap, stepped away. He pointed his wand at the Jeffries' right arm, ignoring the wand that was in the corresponding hand.

The bone breaker snapped Jeffries' forearm, and the boy gave a scream of pain.

Sorely tempted to send another into Jeffries' face, Harry turned and walked back to his compartment. He rubbed his chest, noticing that he had taken the boy's stinging hex in his haste, and only spared Tonks a glance. She was staring at him with shock, like all the other faces in the corridor.

-()-

Harry's transfiguration had lasted a little over an hour, before changing back into a shoe. Neither of the twin Potters were happy to see their animal go, their attentions having been moved quickly from Harry's incident back to their temporary pet, but the cat and toad that they were apparently sharing got some more attention after the rabbit vanished and Harry got his shoe back. Shortly after that, Harry left the girls to change and to change himself.

People were whispering, as Harry walked through the train. It was tough to say how much was because he had broken the arm of the Head Boy, and how much was because of his unique appearance. Nobody spoke, until the Head Girl approached him after disembarking.

'Presumably, you're the new boy.' she looked unhappy, but Harry was confused about how little she seemed bothered by him. It more seemed to be annoyance than hostility, despite him having attacked her partner.

Harry nodded, 'Probably.'

'Normally, first years go on the boat but since you're not thirteen you'll come in a carriage and then wait in the Entrance Hall for Professor Mcgonagall. Got it?' Harry nodded, 'Good. Over there, then.'

'See you soon, Harry!' Penny called, her sister waving, before the twin girls rushed over to the boats to join their fellows. Harry walked to the carriages, and was mildly confused. He had been told that they pulled themselves.

Harry ran a hand over the back of the skeletal horse, careful not to touch its leathery wings, and drew even more looks. The horse didn't seem to mind, but also didn't seem to particularly care for being stroked, so Harry patted it on the back and climbed into the carriage.

'What were you doing?' Hermione asked.

'Am I not meant to touch them?' Harry asked, noting that everyone else seemed to be ignoring the winged beasts.

'Touch what?'

'The horses.'

'There aren't any horses. The carriages pull themselves.'

'Huh. That's odd.' Harry commented. He didn't know much, but his eyes had never failed him before; there certainly were horses there. They didn't look like Abraxans, though, and those were the only winged horses Harry had read about thus far. And he hadn't met them in his world. There must be something that decides if they can be seen.

Hermione seemed unsatisfied by his statement, but nodded. She was looking at him rather intensely as the carriage rumbled up towards the school though. Harry watched her back, wondering what he would think of the girl in a few weeks. It was too early, at the moment, to make a decision; she was… odd. Like the rabbit Harry had transfigured, Hermione Granger occasionally looked at him like she wanted to pull him apart to figure out how he worked.

'They aren't horses.' But, then, Hermione hardly seemed strange next to the girl who had joined them a few hours before. The girl, a blonde with blue eyes that seemed larger than was proportional, introduced herself as Luna Lovegood, specifying that she would prefer not to be called Loony, and had plonked herself down next to Harry and asked if _Nargles_ had taken his shoe. That same shoe was in Harry's hand, and he had shown it to her when he shook his head and answered that it hadn't been stolen. She had looked disappointed, and had said that hers they had already gotten to hers, somehow.

Ginny Weasley, who had accompanied her, had given them a look midway between amusement and exasperation.

Upon first glance, the girl had seemed dumb; Harry had had that reinforced by her ardent support of the truth in _the Quibbler_ , a magazine that James Potter read to amuse himself. Luna had been quiet, other than reading the magazine, occasionally spurting nonsense, but none of it had been from lack of understanding. More… an odd interpretation of what was said. So maybe she wasn't dumb.

Quirky. Strange. Even mentally ill. But not necessarily dumb.

'What are they?' Harry asked, curious. She had mentioned many creatures, but this was the first one he could see.

'They're called Thestrals,' she said, warmly, 'and are very peaceful creatures. They hate the fact that people perceive them as bad omens; they didn't choose to be the way they are.'

'The way they are?' Harry questioned, as Hermione huffed.

'They can only be seen by those who have seen death,' she said. Luna's voice was no more quiet, nor more subdued, than before, but there was something different. Harry wondered if he had imagined it.

Hermione, mouth previously open to offer a rebuttal, pressed her lips into a line and gave Luna a sympathetic look. It was plain, from the blonde girl's words, that she had seen someone die. Harry wasn't about to ask who it had been.

Ginny, sat next to her friend, placed a hand on Luna's knee and squeezed it reassuringly.

'Yes?' Luna asked Ginny, looking at her with the same dreamy expression that seemed to rest on her face at all times.

'I didn't say anything.' Ginny raised an eyebrow.

'Oh. I thought you were trying to get my attention.' Luna lifted the Quibbler magazine that had been sitting on her knees, and began to read.

Harry wondered why she, a Ravenclaw based on her garments, was sitting with a group of Gryffindors, a Hufflepuff, and... Harry. In black robes because he had not yet been given a House.

Speaking of robes. Harry was not fond of the Wizard style of clothing. He had seen people panic as their sleeves caught fire, or have the loose fabric be caught on a branch, or have them bewitched to attack their wearer. Though, to be fair, any item of clothing could be bewitched to do as much. They were just… outdated. There was a reason that those who worked within the Auror office only wore them on formal occasions, and not while on duty; the trenchcoats that they favoured were far easier to discard if necessary and, as they were enchanted by the Aurors themselves, provided actual protection.

Harry's eyes moved from Luna and Ginny, to the girl sat in the farthest corner from Harry himself. He did not think it was intentional on her part, based on the fact that she was giving him furtive glances every few minutes, but that was where Nymphadora was seated. Her hair was changing colour with every glance, going to a dark purple seconds after looking away from Harry, back to bubblegum pink, and then dark again when she inevitably looked back over in thought.

Maybe she was upset that he had attacked the boy in defense of her. Harry's intentions had not been to imply that she was weak, but it might have come across in that way. Maybe not, though; his own fury had been rather clear as he hexed the boy, and he had not made a move to step in front of her. Just to hurt him.

If she was angry, though, she would be angry. It might make it more comfortable for Harry if she steered clear of him. Hogwarts was the safest place in Europe, supposedly, so it wasn't like he needed to stick with her at all times. And it wasn't like Tonks couldn't take care of herself. He would just need to keep an eye out for her, is all.

Harry moved his eyes from the Metamorphmagi as Nymphadora looked back over at him, and peered out of the window next to him, hoping to catch a glimpse of the castle.

-()-

Harry got the feeling that this woman disliked him already. The stern-faced witch was looking at Harry like he was about to curse the little girl into oblivion. Apparently he shouldn't have cast the warming charm on a shivering child, though why this was a bad thing escaped Harry.

But he wouldn't hold that against her. He recognised the woman, from his own world. The one whose death had so enraged Remus and Sirius, when Voldemort had cut the ties between her soul and body.

'Mr Potter, the Headmaster wishes to have a word with you once the Feast is over, regarding your conduct on the train.' Professor McGonagall, as she had introduced herself, told him. She didn't wait to see Harry nod before continuing. 'If you all would follow me, you will now be sorted.'

The recipient of the charm said a soft _thank you_ , but didn't wait around any longer than her peers. None of the First Years seemed willing to make eye-contact with Harry, with the exception of Penny and Paige. It was vaguely amusing, since each of them were prone to staring at him whenever there wasn't a risk of their eyes meeting.

Harry followed at the back of the group, as McGonagall lead the First Years through and into the Great Hall. Harry had seen the Hall once before, but it had been in ruins at the time; at first, he was interested to see the differences.

That changed soon, as Harry decided it had looked more spectacular in his world.

As the charms had failed, the magic that had been powering them unravelled and Harry had been able to see what ingenuity had been used to create them: the ceiling stretched as far as the eye could see, with every weather type racing by with each passing second, and it was beautiful to watch the blazing sun transform into a blizzard that was replaced by winds stronger than Harry was ever likely to see in the real world; the candles burned brightly, warming the entire room with their magical flames but, when Harry wondered what was different about them, not burning flesh; the tables, charmed to fit as many people as they needed to, looked to be large enough only for ten to sit at each table, and yet it had taken two-hundred steps to reach the table intended for staff.

Here they were, whole and entirely under the command of Dumbledore.

And the man himself. Disappointing.

Harry supposed that, in his own world, Albus Dumbledore, the man with too many names, had presented the same image. Harry had been unable to appreciate it last time, as thrown off as he was, but Dumbledore looked… old. Senile, even. The man's image told nothing of the titan below, who had fended off giants and dementors and Death Eaters. Who had dueled the Dark Wizards that wanted to crush the great stronghold that represented hope for the future, and refused to succumb to the dozens of formidable opponents. The man whose magic had lit up the night sky, so that noon came at the darkest of times; the perfect metaphor for the man's sacrifice, and the hundreds of young lives he had protected by giving his own.

Harry shook his head, as he walked down the aisle.

The Hall's candles, floating in the sky, threw his scars into sharp relief. Or, Harry guessed they did, by the fact that silence was replaced by a few daring whispers that grew as he neared the end of the walk. Harry looked at the ragged hat that sat on a stool on the raised platform, and smiled; now there was something he remembered. The hat that defied Voldemort.

He stopped behind the younger sortees, and waited.

'Ackerley, Stewart!' McGonogall called, and a boy with long black hair hurried over to the stool and placed the hat on his head.

It took nearly forty seconds, 'RAVENCLAW!'

'Andrews, Claire!' the teacher called. A girl, too eager, rushed forwards and nearly tripped. She sat on the stool with a blush.

Seventeen seconds, 'HUFFLEPUFF!'

'Ashers, Michael!' she called. The boy who swaggered up gave the impression of supreme confidence, as though there was no doubt about where he would be placed.

'GRYFFINDOR!' the Hat announced, after three seconds contemplation. The boy paled, and took twenty more to muster up the courage to move.

'GRYFFINDOR!'

'HUFFLEPUFF!'

'SLYTHERIN!'

'SLYTHERIN!'

'RAVENCLAW!'

And so it continued, until McGonagall called, 'Peters, Paul!' The boy looked timid, as he hurried up the stairs and sat on the stool. His head was unusually small, with large ears, and so the Hat dropped to cover his eyes.

'RAVENCLAW!'

'Quintus, Jeremy!'

Harry frowned. He would have expected a warning if he was going to be sorted at the end. Having so many eyes on him was an unpleasant feeling; the last time so many people had looked at him, he'd killed all of them.

Even the teachers seemed to be favouring examining him to watching the sorting.

One man, a greasy haired teacher that must have been Snape, was somewhere between a glare and a sneer. It appeared he hated Harry already, because no one's resting face could hold such vehemence.

Another face he recognised from fighting his world's Voldemort was the tiny man who was looking at Harry curiously, not with antipathy. Harry had never known him, but the half-goblin was impressive, to say the least. Harry was fairly certain his powers, even in these teenage years, would hold more power, but it was not the power behind them that was intimidating. They had been fired faster than any Harry had seen before or since and, if Voldemort had not erected such a powerful, near permanent, shield, Harry thought he might have achieved the goal of saving the plump teacher whom he sat next to.

She had not been fighting when Harry saw her. She'd been screaming, instead, as Bellatrix cackled and tortured her. Everyone on the field of battle, at least on the side of the light, had been enraged by the sound, but her fellow educators had been fighting with everything they had to save her. Unfortunately, they had been fighting with all they had but lacking clear minds. Harry didn't know whether it would have made a difference to the outcome, but being able to look at things with focus and logic would, at the very least, have let the teachers survive for a few more moments.

'Yang, Nigel!' A boy of Chinese descent was the last of the actual First Years to be sorted, and the hat had barely touched his head when it made a decision.

'SLYTHERIN!'

Harry waited, posture relaxed for the simple reason that he had nothing to fear, for the woman to call his name.

'Potter, Harry!' So they did have his actual last name, then. Good. Responding to something else would not have felt normal.

He walked up the stairs and eyed the rickety stool they were expecting him to sit on. Harry moved it, and sat, cross-legged, on the floor instead. He picked up the hat, and placed it on his head. He tried not to think of the possibility of headlice, and the hat picked up on it with a soft chuckle broadcasting into his mind.

'Something my creators foresaw. Even in their time, children had poor hygiene.' it said, 'Well, well, aren't you an _interesting_ one? A warrior, not a schoolchild, and yet you do not seem to mind being placed under the supervision of adults who have felt less pain, in their lives, than you do each month.'

Harry thought back at it, 'They know things I don't. That's the purpose of teaching institutions like this one, I would think.'

'It is. It is. And is that why you have come? For the pursuit of knowledge?'

'I've come for the pursuit of other things, and gaining knowledge is a means to that end.'

'Power is what you seek, then.'

'That is as close to accurate as I can put into words. Through power, I can fight for what I believe and save this world from the fate of my own.'

'Your world's fate?' it asked, 'Who is to say that this world is headed for the same path?'

'Nobody is. But if the Dark Lord is as powerful here as he was last I met him, that outcome is inevitable. Amaryllis is kind. Should she fight him, she will lose.'

'And yet you hold a high opinion of her. Of all the Potters.'

'Of course. There is nothing wrong with kindness, or of weakness. The Potters took a stranger bearing the scars of war into their home, and welcomed me with open arms. Amaryllis, her sisters, her parents, they all deserve a happy life. I suppose the same could be said for everyone, but personal investment serves a purpose in this case. I need to care about the outcome.'

'Everyone?'

'Most,' Harry corrected, 'I do not believe that Dark Wizards, Death Eaters or otherwise, deserve the chance to continue.'

'You use dark magic yourself.' the Hat pointed out.

'Dark Wizards. Not the practicers of Dark Magic. Whether it's hypocritical of me or not, I don't know, but I would condemn someone for suggesting we abandon half of magic before condemning him for using it in a fight that could easily end with his death. A Dark Wizard, on the other hand, is one who uses any type of magic to hurt innocents. Perhaps another name would be better. Immoral Wizards. Evil Wizards. Sadists, rapists, murderers.'

'And why must you fight them?' the Hat asked.

'I do not want others to bear that duty.'

'So you are the one who has to take on the burden?'

'I have already taken the burden. My shoulders are used to its weight, and I have already suffered the consequences. No matter what I do, my humanity has been chipped away over the years. No matter where I go from here, I will never be free of pain. An ounce more weight, or another moment's agony, will be like a drop into a lake for me, where it would be a tidal wave for those who have not been raised as a fighter.'

'As a soldier?'

'I'm not a soldier.' Harry told it, 'A soldier is one who believes in a cause. Who is willing to lay his life on the line for it, not because he was raised to but because he believes it is his duty. I don't have a duty, I don't seek justice; maybe I would have craved justice had I been raised with another option, maybe I wouldn't have. I am just a fighter; I was given this life, I did not choose it, and there's no point in denying as much.'

'Are you afraid?'

'Afraid…' Harry tested the word on his metaphorical tongue, 'I am afraid of much. I'm afraid of dying. I'm afraid of seeing hate in the eyes of those I love. I'm afraid of the monster I could become at any moment, if I was just to fall over the edge. But it isn't debilitating. I can just as easily tame the beast as give into it; I knew I risked their hate, but I still committed the unthinkable; and, I have died before. I will die again, and I only hope that Death will accept me when that time comes.'

'You are afraid of more than that.'

'Much more. More, I am sorry, than I think a Hat could understand.'

'You're correct. Your thoughts on that matter are… different. I read the minds of people barely entering their teenage years, and your problems are far cries from theirs. Refreshing, but complex.

'Even at thirteen, nobody has a single house's trait, but they usually have a clear idea of what matters the most. Or the potential for one of the aspects of their personality far outweighs the others. I am sure you would realise as much over the time you attend Hogwarts, there are some in Slytherin who are far from cunning but who idolise those who have the trait, there are those in Gryffindor who will grow to be brave even if they are do not yet show chivalry and courage. But you seem to have traits of all the houses. Resourcefulness, compassion, intelligence, bravery.

'Tell me,' the Hat continued, 'where do you expect me to place you?'

Harry answered without any real hesitation, 'Gryffindor.'

'Would you care to elaborate? Why do you think the house of the Brave is the correct place for you?'

'It's the only house whose traits don't conflict with my personality. I have some of all of the houses, but I don't believe in fair play, as Hufflepuffs are said to; I value knowledge for the use it will have, not for the knowledge itself; and Slytherin places more emphasis on cunning and ambition than resourcefulness. I have both, but only if your definition is open ended; I intend to hunt Dark Wizards, and my ambition is to grow stronger for that purpose, but I don't care for politics or social standing as Slytherins so often do. And my cunning isn't a natural trait; I learned a lesson for every injury I received, and they have grown into shrewdness.

'But I am brave, no point in denying that, I've always been daring to the point of lunacy, never lacked nerve and, in my own way, am chivalrous. I may have fought and defeated women, even killed some of them, but I used to have a great deal of difficulty doing it. And, more importantly, there's my reasons for fighting. I want to protect those who are weaker than me and incapable of surviving what I go through so often. Chivalry, at its core, is about protecting the innocent, not those who happen to have a different gender to oneself.'

Harry waited for a response, either agreement or argument, and frowned when it didn't come. Not in the way he'd expected, anyway.

'GRYFFINDOR!' the Hat exclaimed, aloud. Harry removed the hat, and stood from his seat on the floor. People were looking at him again, and he wondered how long his sorting had taken. Longer than any of the First Years, for certain, but Harry didn't know how many minutes had passed.

He ignored the looks, and walked to the Gryffindor table. He sat between Paige and Penny, who had made room for him, and ignored the fact that the First Year opposite him began to sweat immediately.

Food appeared without further ado, and Harry ate his fill. It was nice, nicer even than what he had been eating at the Potter household, and he ate a decent amount. But Harry wasn't in the habit of overindulging in how much he consumed; it was yet another lesson he had learned the hard way. Chicken, vegetables, and gravy were followed by treacle tarts, apple pie, and custard. When the meal was done, three people within Harry's immediate vicinity were falling asleep with their heads on the table.

They quickly woke up, as Dumbledore stood with a smile and spoke. 'So! Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

'Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects banned within the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-Yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises of some four hundred and thirty seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it.'

Dumbledore did not seem upset by the fact, rather his smile was growing as he spoke.

He continued, 'As ever, I would like to remind you that the Forbidden Forest is out-of-bounds to students unless accompanied by a teacher, as is the village of Hogsmeade to those in third year and below.

'And it is my painful duty to announce that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.'

' _WHAT_?!' amongst the other voices suddenly outraged and unafraid of expressing their distress, Harry heard Amaryllis' shocked voice. He glanced down the table, and saw the horror written across her face. Nearby, the Weasley twins were staring at Dumbledore as though he had killed their firstborn children, mouths moving but too horrified to form actual words.

Dumbledore continued, undeterred by the shocked exclamations, 'This is due to an event that will be beginning in October, and continuing-'

Whatever was to come next was interrupted, as a _boom_ rang through the hall. The door to the Great Hall opened in unison to thunder rumbling in the sky.

Somewhere, a girl screamed as lightning illuminated the figure who stepped through. He wore a black travelling cloak, heavy with water, but the hood was down and his face exposed as the light threw the figure's mangled face into even sharper relief than Harry's own had been nearly half-an-hour before.

The man shook out a mane of grey hair, and limped forwards as the whispering began. People throughout the Hall, who had recognised the man, told their frightful neighbours who he was. Those in Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw had nervousness disguising reverence but, as Harry spared the far table a glance, Slytherin was full of heated glares at the man.

' _Mad-Eye Moody_...'

' _Auror_ …'

' _Effing legend_ …'

Harry could not hear the murmurs of those dressed in green, but he could guess why they were looking at the man with such loathing. He had read about him in recent sources and, though they were mostly about his growing irrationality, they mentioned his feats during the war. He had filled more cells in Azkaban than anyone else, and those he had not captured often wound up dead.

Gryffindors began speculating why he was here, and, as the man _clunk-clunk_ ed his way towards the Head Table, they decided that he must have been the new teacher. They were neither overwhelmingly positive or negative, trepidation in the mix for sure, and Harry guessed that they were afraid of how strict and unpleasant the man might be.

Harry stared at Mad-Eye Moody for a different reason altogether as he drew his wand and raised it.

In the handful of seconds before Harry wrote the words in the air, he found himself glad, for once, of the fight that had cost him his own eye. He thought the trade for magic being burned into the damaged orb, with an unbearable amount of pain, was as good a deal as he had ever seen.

 _That is an imposter._

The words hovered in the air, after Moody passed Harry's position, and Dumbledore's eyes flicked to Harry. They flicked back, and he smiled warmly at the man limping towards him. Harry stared at the Auror, who had an eye much like his own, and waited for a reaction. He could see through the back of his head; if Moody had been looking in Harry's direction as he wrote the words, then the fight may begin in earnest. Anyone could be hit if that happened, but it was better than letting the imposter blow them to kingdom come, or act out whatever other nefarious plan he had.

Harry's grip on his wand shifted, as the words in the air faded. But others had spotted it, and Harry heard other whispers begin.

It was fortunate they did.

Harry was fairly certain that the real Moody would have just swivelled his eye, but this person did not have as much experience with a magical eye as the real Auror. And, so, when the boy next to him gave a pitiful squeak of panic and fear, the imposter turned his head to stare at the child.

Harry didn't see Dumbledore move, but an intricately carved wand was in his hand and raised to cast as soon as Moody's eyes moved from the man.

Not-Moody saw, and his own wand sprang into his hand from a holster that was on his wrist even as a spell hit him in the chest. The spell, a sky blue jet of light, lifted the man off his feet and threw him through the air. Another spell followed it, and it spoke of the imposter's skill that he had a shield up in mid air as Dumbledore's charm rushed towards him. But it spoke of the difference between a skilled Death Eater, in a body that wasn't his own, and the most powerful light wizard in existence that the shield shattered as Dumbledore's spell splashed against it.

The disarming charm from Dumbledore's wand struck the man in the air, the third cast in the space of a second, and the man's wand sailed into the air. It was summoned by the half-goblin professor, as Dumbledore encased the imposter in ropes and then stunned him.

The man flew out of the room a second later, back through the door through which he had entered, and Dumbledore smiled genially at the students.

'As I was saying, Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard tournament. Please speculate, as I investigate who has impersonated Professor Moody, and discover where the Professor himself is at this moment,' he said, before moving with a speed that was remarkable for a man so old around the table and through the Hall. 'Mr Potter,' he continued, 'if you would please accompany me.'

Harry did, following the Headmaster out of the large room and refusing to pay the stares any attention as he did. The old Headmaster's purple robe flowed behind the man, as he strode to and through the door. Harry resisted the temptation to hurry after him, his ego not willing to make the effort when there was no reason to.

In the Entrance Hall, Dumbledore had the imposter, still in the guise of Moody, floating in the air before him. He had waited for Harry and, as the new student walked through the doors, gave him a look that Harry could not place. As though Dumbledore was assessing him, somehow.

'If you would follow me, I will need to contact Madam Bones from my office.' Dumbledore said. Harry nodded, and ascended the staircase with the Headmaster.

It felt like a long walk, to Harry, as he accompanied Dumbledore to the third floor. They were silent, with the imposter floating before them, and Dumbledore's eyes rarely strayed from the unconscious man as Harry wondered what would come next.


	9. Into the Room, Eating Breakfast

September 1st,

It was not only Madam Bones, who had introduced herself to Harry as the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, who had come through the Headmaster's fireplace. Accompanying her were two Aurors. A man with the mane of a lion, introduced as Rufus Scrimgeour, was followed by James Potter. James gave Harry a mildly surprised look, and then nodded at some thought.

'If I might ask, Mr Potter,' Madam Bones began, 'how did you know that this was not Alastor Moody?'

'My eye,' Harry explained, simply. For clarification, he placed a finger under his left eye, against the long silver scar that ran down the left side of his face.

'Hm. And I understand that you gained that eye through performing a healing spell upon receiving the injury?' Amelia inquired.

'That's right.' he replied.

'And what was this spell?' she asked.

'I'm sorry. I misspoke; I didn't cast the spell, it was cast by someone else when my eye was damaged. I don't remember the incantation, and didn't have the chance to ask.' Harry clarified.

'Why couldn't you ask?' Madam Bones wondered.

'She died shortly thereafter.' Harry replied.

'Madam, I believe it best to leave this conversation. It isn't relevant to this matter, and Mr Potter may feel that you are unnecessarily inquiring into his personal life.' Dumbledore said, his words holding some meaning Harry didn't catch.

'Of course. I was only wondering if it might be of use in St Mungos.' she said, with a formal tone.

'Of course.' Dumbledore nodded, smiling.

'It wouldn't be.' Harry said, despite not being prompted. He would hate for them to look into that, and use it on others when there was another option.

'And why is that, Harry?' Dumbledore asked him. The Headmaster had checked that he was okay to call Harry that, and if the young wizard had a choice he'd have everyone else say it, too. He'd never been known as anything else.

'When you have the option of making eyes like Professor Moody's, the benefits are vastly outweighed by the negatives.'

'What negatives?' Rufus Scrimgeour, having remained silent thus far, asked.

'The incredible amount of pain that accompanied it during the change, is the main one. Other than that, it gave me more headaches than I can count at first, and it contributes to my inability to sleep properly. When I close my eyes, it just sees through the lid.'

The imposter made a noise, somewhere between a groan and an angry shout, and everyone's attention turned to him. He did not wake up, but the spell Dumbledore had cast, to remove the Polyjuice Potion's effect in half the time it would normally require, had finally begun.

Harry watched grizzled features turn to those of a skinny man, with pale skin and a mop of straw-coloured hair; not-Moody turned into the man whose shadow Harry had seen. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, very slightly, and he moved over to the unconscious imposter. Harry didn't recognise the man, as far as he knew. He was vaguely familiar… maybe he'd been in the crowd at some point in the war. Maybe his face was amongst the sea of dead men attributed to Harry.

Dumbledore grasped the man's left forearm, and pulled the sleeve back. He muttered to himself, as the others made similar sounds. Harry craned his neck, and saw the familiar brand of the Death Eater. A snake protruding from the mouth of a skull.

'Barty Crouch Junior,' Dumbledore announced. 'I believe that we should bring this matter to the Wizengamot, and question his father.' he said, with a frown. 'And exhume the body that was buried in Azkaban. I suspect that we will find the boy's mother in his place.

'Harry, we will need to have our chat tomorrow. If you could make your way to Gryffindor tower, I will send for you tomorrow after classes are done.'

-()-

Harry didn't feel like heading straight to the Gryffindor tower, not that he actually knew where it was, and instead headed to the most interesting spot in the castle.

It took some time to decide if it was the same in this world as his own. Whatever magic the room entailed, his eye was unable to peer inside.

Harry stood in front of it, and thought back to what he had seen last time. He didn't quite understand how the room had expanded as it had, but the corridor in which he now stood had barely been wide enough for him to walk through as one wall bulged outwards. And Harry had been unwilling to stay for too long, on the off chance that it would erupt and blow him to Hell.

The door had swung open to give him a good view inside, when Harry had tried every angle to see through with his eye, and he had been rightly amazed by what was inside. The walls changed colour, shape, and texture five times per second, never being quite the same twice. Harry had seen as meadows changed to dungeons, and forests to a room packed full of discarded items. He had no idea what the connection was, but the magic was fascinating nonetheless.

Upon reaching the spot, Harry placed his right hand on the wall, and then raised his left. He rapped the metal knuckles against the brickwork, and placed an ear to the stone. It made the sound one would expect from metal on stone, and Harry grunted.

He wanted to see the inside.

Harry moved to the left, and tried again. He stared hard at the wall, and knocked his hand against it. It was tempting to punch through, but that would likely be a bad idea. Whatever the wall was, the magic had to be dangerous.

Harry moved to the right, nearer to the corner around which he had come, and covered his right eye with his left hand. Harry raised his wand, held in the right hand's grip, and took a breath. He hoped it wouldn't explode, if only because that would hurt and attract a hell of a lot of attention.

' _Revelio_!' Harry flinched, as the charm flew into the wall, and waited for something bad to happen.

Nothing did, and Harry walked up to the wall again. He stood face to face next to it, and raised his wand once more. He looked at the bricks, scratched his head, and began tapping the point of his Blackthorn wand against them.

This one and that, and then another and another. Harry tried a dozen patterns, then a dozen more, in hopes that it might be the same idea as Diagon Alley's entrance.

Evidently, it was not.

Harry swore at the surface, and walked down to the left side of the corridor. He paced back, and then forth, and debated blowing a hole through to the other side.

All he wanted was to see what was inside. Was that too much to… huh.

There was a door there.

There hadn't been before.

Harry pulled the handle, and the ornate wooden door swung open. He raised his wand, waiting for something to attack him, and cast _lumos_ with a thought.

Harry sent the ball of light into the darkness of the room, towards the right wall, and his left eye examined the contents inside as his right adjusted.

It was empty.

That was anticlimactic.

Harry took a slow step forwards, wand still raised and ready to defend should the need arise, and looked around. He brightened the ball of light, and it floated to the ceiling as he walked the edge of the room. It seemed far less marvelous in this world than his own. A shame, since he'd wanted a place to practice magic without interruption.

'What the hell?' the room extinguished Harry's light, and it was almost as though the room and Harry inside blinked out of existence for a split second. When Harry blinked, his left eye was unobstructed. When it was dark, his left eye saw shades of grey. So… where did everything go for that second?

And _how_ was the room now a hundred meter space with dummies and targets, made of various materials, along the far wall, as well as bookshelves on the wall to Harry's right?

Harry smiled.

He'd _known_ this room was interesting. Apparently he had underestimated it, even so.

'Who made you? Who made this room?' Harry asked, looking at the ceiling.

He noticed a book in the corner of his eye, on a plinth, and walked over to it. That had appeared as soon as he asked, it wasn't a mighty leap to think it would answer his question.

 _The Lives and Times of Helga Hufflepuff, Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw._

'The founders, huh? That makes sense.' Harry commented, as he opened the book and scanned the first page. It was written in latin, 'Do you have it in English?'

Harry turned around, and found another book, on an identical stand. He flicked the cover open, and began to read.

It was an interesting subject, but not one Harry especially cared about or one presented in an especially clear way. Whoever had written the book was embittered towards the three, and it was rather clear by the language used. If he was to guess, Harry would say Salazar Slytherin was the author. That was why he only read a chapter before closing it and moving over to the books on the wall.

They had plain covers, and Harry made a thoughtful sound.

'Could I get some books on defensive and offensive magics? And the tactics that best make use of the different branches of magic?'

Harry turned his head, and saw a new bookcase. He turned it again, and found that the one he had been browsing was now gone.

'Okay. And could you please give me the instructions for how to properly make use of this room?' he asked, next. He seemed to be figuring it out, but actually being told how to use it would make this process far easier.

A pamphlet drifted down past Harry's face.

'Thank you.'

He read the pamphlet through thrice, and nodded. That was relatively simple to understand. Harry was glad that the room had known he meant how to operate it, and not the mechanics of this incredible enchantment. There was literally no chance that he would understand the spellwork that had gone into… _this_. No more than a dog understands the mechanics of a car as it sticks its head out of the window, anyway.

It could not create food and drink, because nothing that was created by the room could be taken out. That meant that- if the room _did_ provide sustenance- a person could spend a fortnight in the room, drinking their fill of water or ale or butterbeer, and then walk outside and die of thirst. A safeguard, put in place by the Founders.

Short of food and drink, it could create most anything. As Harry had seen, it could create targets and show him any books that were, or had been, inside the Castle. It could create models that were borderline sentient, if that was what the user wanted, but not resembling a person the user knew. Apparently, the Founders suspected that some students might use the room for something other than learning and training if they had that option.

And things that were left in the room, unless the person had the thought in mind to store them safely, would go to the Room of Hidden Things.

Harry made a mental note to see what was contained in that variation.

The last thing Harry thought was especially noteworthy was a warning to be very specific when using the room. If, for example, someone discovered that he was training within they could ask to be let into "Harry Potter's training room" unless he told the room specifically not to allow anyone access. Harry did so, and looked at the dummies across the room.

He raised his wand, and spoke to the room at large, 'It's probably included in amongst the basic settings, but please make the room soundproof. I don't want people outside to be able to hear.' Harry said, as the tip began to glow a dull gold..

' _Arida_.' he spoke, and his magic began its consumption of the targets with a torrent of white-hot sand.

-()-

Harry was the subject of more than a few stares, as he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, and found himself staring back with a little more challenge than he should have done. He was tired and frustrated, after spending well over an hour training with wand and then another two with his body, before heading off to look for the Gryffindor Common Room, and annoyed with himself and everyone else for the fact that they did not think to tell him of the Password that would be required.

Harry had gone back to the Room, and it had happily given him a mat to rest upon. But that did nothing to change the fact that his Trunk, and belongings, were past the Fat Lady's portrait. Which meant he had to wait for people to wake up, and leave their beds, before he could fetch the things he needed.

Lazy bastards. None of them had been up before Seven, not wanting to leave their warm beds before they had to, and even then Harry had been staring at the red haired girl, through the Portrait, for ten minutes or more before she had finally opened the door.

Based on the badge that had been pinned to her robe, with the letter _P_ , she was a prefect. And, based on the look of fright on her face when the Portrait swung open, she had not been expecting to see Harry, standing still as a statue before her, when she left the safety of the Common Room.

When Harry had gotten to his Dorm Room, labelled as the Fourth Year Dorm, he had heard snores and mumbled nonsense as his new Roommates slumbered on. He had had a vindictive urge to animate their beds, but decided against doing so. It would do no good, after all, to worsen their opinions of him further than they no doubt were already.

He had showered, a pair of simple wards to let him know if someone came through door or window, gotten dressed, and left his things in the trunk. He had no idea what he'd need today, and so would need to come back after being given instructions.

Those who were staring at Harry were the few who had come down already, and most of the student body were still in their beds. The only one who had been up in Harry's dorm was a slightly overweight boy with dark hair; he had been stood near the Weasleys when Harry had seen them on the platform.

Harry sat at his table, ignoring the brown haired boy at Hufflepuff's table, prettier than many girls Harry had seen, who was muttering something to himself as he stared at Harry. He looked like a scared muggle soldier psyching himself up for the battle to come.

Harry began to eat, feeling the hunger from the night before growing with the smell of so much cooked and seasoned food, and was most-way through his third plate when a happy Hermione Granger joined him.

'Good morning, Harry.'

Harry paused, swallowing his current mouthful, to reply, 'Morning. You look… eager.' he commented, eyeing the bulging rucksack she had placed on the bench beside her.

'It's the year before OWLs,' Hermione said, as though reminding Harry.

'What are OWLs? I assume you aren't talking about the bird.'

'Ordinary Wizarding Levels! Has nobody explained them to you yet?! How are you going to pass them, if you haven't even started learning for them yet?! This is a _disaster_! You're going to need to work in the Library every day to catch up! Of course, I can help out if you need a tutor to help you catch up with what you've missed! But we'll need to work out a schedule, and I'll need to give you my notes, and did Dumbledore give you the books we used before? He did, didn't he? Okay, so you can get started on that, and I'm sure Mary will be happy to give you a hand in Defense, she's the best in our year at that, and maybe if you ask Neville he'll give you a hand in Herbology! He's much better than even me in that, it's really quite incredible-'

'Did you just say Neville?'

' _Yes_ , Neville! Don't just assume he's rubbish because he's a little shy! People always do that, and it really affects his confidence. No matter what we do, he looks at others and sees them laughing and immediately fumbles with whatever spell he's trying! It really isn't fair to do that, he's a nice boy!'

'I… okay. That's not why I was asking; maybe he's a talented wizard, maybe he's not. I don't especially care and definitely don't have an opinion either way.' Harry told her. Hermione frowned at him, but he continued, 'Have you ever met his parents?'

'Yes? His father's a strict man, but he's nice enough. He's been around at Mary's a few times, I think Mr Potter and Mr Longbottom work together,' she answered.

'What about his mother?' Harry asked.

'No… I think something happened to her, when I asked Neville about her he got really depressed.' Hermione was still frowning, but instead of judgement she seemed to be wondering where Harry was going with this subject.

'Can you point him out to me, when he comes down?' he asked, the food on his plate forgotten.

'That's him over there,' Hermione said, confused, 'but don't you want to talk about- hey, where are you going?'

Harry had risen to his feet, picking up his plate and cutlery, and was now making his way over to the boy Hermione had pointed to. Neville was staring at his plate, rather than trying to talk to anybody around.

When Harry sat down in the seat opposite, the boy nearly jumped out of his skin. When Neville looked up, Harry watched the boy lose all the colour in his face.

'I- I don't- I…' Neville stammered, staring at Harry with wide eyes. It made sense; Harry's interactions with others thus far had consisted of putting the Head Boy in Hospital and getting Dumbledore to attack Mad-Eye Moody in the middle of the Great Hall.

After a few moments waiting, Harry spoke, 'Is your mother in St Mungos?' he asked, simply.

Neville's nerves seemed to vanish immediately, 'Yes…' he said, suspicious.

'You look a bit like her, now that I think about it. Assuming I'm right, and she's in the Permanent ward, being treated for some form of Magic-induced mental illness?' Neville was staring at Harry now, his mother's round cheeks were sunken in the hospital, but the feature was shared between them, as were their eyes, 'I just thought I'd let you know she cares deeply about you.'

'She… what are you talking about?' Neville demanded, staring into Harry's eyes unflinchingly.

'I was there for a while over the summer. I happened into the ward where she's staying. Her mutterings were the loudest thing in that place. But I guess you'd know, right?' Harry asked, 'I only say it because I wanted to tell you to cherish that. Cherish the fact that she cares enough about you to, even in that state, focus so wholly on your wellbeing.'

'I don't… what are you talking about? My mum… she just gives me sweet wrappers. I don't even think she _recognises_ me. Just… don't talk about her.' The boy's eyes were harder now.

Harry wondered, briefly, if he should insult her. He could call her a whore or a pathetic vegetable, so that the boy in front of him would snap. He would be cursing Harry before the words were fully out of his mouth, and maybe that would teach him that to buck up. How better to help the woman's son, than to give him a chance to discover his magic in a way few received?

Or maybe the truth would do it. But Harry's words wouldn't be enough.

'I don't know much about minds and the way magic affects them, maybe this was a recent change, but you should go and visit her at night. You'll see.' Harry shrugged, and left Neville to glare into the now empty space opposite.

Amaryllis had joined Hermione by that time, but wasn't speaking as Harry took a seat on the bench opposite.

'Good morning,' Harry said, to the girl.

Amaryllis gave a barely-legible _morning_ back-it sounded more like _murrrnurrr_ \- and Harry raised an eyebrow.

'She was having nightmares about Quidditch being abolished and faceless figures stealing her Firebolt,' Hermione explained, with an amused smile, as she held a piece of toast before Amaryllis' lips. The-girl-who-lived took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. But she made no effort to take the bread off Hermione. Hermione rolled her eyes.

As the bushy haired girl fed her Quidditch-crazed friend, Harry saw Nymphadora enter the hall.

His eye followed her to her seat at the Hufflepuff table, and Harry felt himself tense as she sat across from the pretty boy who had been staring at him earlier. He was very handsome. The boy grinned as Tonks spoke, and said something that made the girl laugh. The words didn't reach Harry's ears, but her laugh was a sound he had memorised years before.

Harry glared at the fork in his left hand, twisted and bent out of its previous shape, and placed it next to his plate. He took a breath, and shook his head.

Harry wasn't used to feeling jealousy.

He didn't like the feeling.

To take his mind off it, Harry took another fork from a nearby plate, and resumed his earlier efforts to replenish the stores of energy that had been expended the night before. He'd lost his appetite, though.

Harry noticed the pretty boy have another girl, blonde, sit next to him, and watched the conversation with more interest than was logical. He wanted to understand, and his magical eye was pinned to Nymphadora as they conversed. She didn't show any signs of distress, not even annoyance, as the new girl stroked the boy's arm and she laughed at every other word he said. Harry wondered if he was _very_ funny, or if the girl was being flirtatious. The latter seemed likely. He didn't quite understand what that meant for Nymphadora, and his attention moved away as Hermione stiffened and stared at an approaching figure.

Then, the woman who had disliked Harry before the sorting- Minerva Mcgonagall- began to walk the length of the Gryffindor table with cards of paper. She handed one to each student, and gave Harry a judgemental look as she handed one to him.

Harry looked at the timetable, as Hermione snatched hers from the teacher's hand. She began to read it as though it held the secret to eternal wealth.

'Whew,' Amaryllis said, with a smile, 'we don't have Snape until Wednesday. Thank Merlin.'

They had Transfiguration first, and Harry, after finishing his plate, stood to go and fetch his things. His magical eye had returned to Tonks, and he saw the pretty boy as he hastily stood, also. The flirting girl nearly fell over, as the boy she had been leaning upon vacated his place.

She didn't look happy.

Harry was nearly through the doors, when the boy called out to him. His pace while chasing Harry had been between a fast-walk and a jog.

'Hey! Can I have a word?' the boy asked, with an insincere grin. The underlying nervousness, perhaps even fear, was given away by his pale countenance.

Harry looked at him, and the boy waited for a few seconds before continuing.

'Listen, I, uh, heard about what happened with Jeffries. And I just wanted to say that… well, while I may have had a hand in starting the rumours about Tonks, that was, like, four years ago. We've mended bridges now, and while she doesn't like me I think she's forgiven me for the most part,' he was grinning by the end of it, as he saw Harry visibly relax, misinterpreting the reason. 'Oh, and I'm Cedric, by the way. Cedric Diggory.'

'Pleasure,' Harry shook the extended hand, 'I'm Harry, and as long as you don't attack her, I won't hold rumours against you.'

'Are you and she an item? Sorry, I didn't mean to pry, or anything…' Cedric was backing away now, and Harry wondered whether the older boy had seen something in his eyes, 'I just thought, with how you stood up for her…'

Harry simply shook his head, and waved a metal hand to show that Cedric had not offended him, 'She's only known me for a couple of weeks, I'm sure she's got more appealing suitors.'

'Oh, right. The… stuff. I dunno, I think there are a good few girls who wouldn't mind the attention, none of them seemed to be shy about talking it over in our Common Room yesterday,' Cedric was grinning at this point, his eyebrows waggling. 'But they might just be excited to see a new student above first year. We don't get transfers often.

'Oh, are you old enough to enter your name into the Tournament?' Cedric asked, suddenly.

'There's an age requirement?'

'Yeah… I think you'd left when Mcgonagall announced that, hadn't you? The competitors have got to be over seventeen. I guess I'm asking to scope out my competitors, you know?'

'Sensible. But, no, I'm only sixteen.'

'Good thing, that. You look like you'd be pretty fierce in the physical tasks. Not that I'd complain if you thrashed the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang Champions, I'd just rather it was me doing the thrashing.'

'Good luck. I think someone wants a word with you.' Harry nodded over Cedric's shoulder, where the blonde girl who had been obvious in her interest in the handsome boy was approaching with determination etched into her expression.

'Crap. I regret that _so much_.' Cedric said, wincing at some memory as he glanced over at her. 'See you 'round,' he said, and then left speedily.

'Where did Cedric go?!' the girl's voice was high-pitched and loud. Harry winced, as his ears rang, and pointed in the appropriate direction. The girl gave him an unnerving smile, 'Thank you. Welcome to Hogwarts,' she said, in a strange tone of voice that might have been meant as charming, before storming off in pursuit.

Harry shook his head, and then headed for the stairs. There were quite a few between the Hall and the Gryffindor Tower.

As Harry placed his foot on the first step, Ronald Weasley came tearing around the corner, his uniform scruffy, with a look of alarm on his face. 'They haven't stopped serving Breakfast yet, have they?!' he asked, voice one of desperation, as he spotted Harry.

'No, there's still time… though you might want to slow down,' Harry told the air, as Ron sprinted down the stairs. Somehow, the boy didn't tumble down them, and tore into the Great Hall with the desperation of a starving man.

Harry shook his head, and climbed the stairs. He glanced at the timetable in his hand, and wondered what Care of Magical Creatures would be covering. He had that third period, followed by lunch and then Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. He wondered who had chosen the subjects for him, and why they had assumed he would be able to catch up with so much on his plate.

He could, of course, with a magical eye that could read at incredible speeds, but it seemed odd to expect so much from a comatose teenager.


	10. Wooden Benches and Hemorrhoids

The Triwizard Tournament.

Harry remembered his thought, a little over a week before, doubting the survival instinct of Wizardkind. Now, he had amended that opinion.

Apparently they also didn't value the lives of their children.

There were six, _six_ , separate occasions in which not a single competitor survived the first round. And there were a dozen of the tournaments in this book that had all of them dying before the end.

Harry looked around the Transfiguration classroom, trying to find someone as disturbed by what they were reading as he, he snorted as he saw the looks of reverence and awe on his new classmates' faces. Weren't Ravenclaws supposed to be intelligent?

Wizards.

Harry shook his head, and closed the book. He reached for the transfiguration book on his desk, he'd finished the Triwizard history book and would far prefer rereading some of the passages of transforming magic. If he was going to learn to cast them silently, and without motion, he'd need to know them better than the back of his hand. That was the only way for his magic to know them.

'You have another hour, Mr Potter. It would be best that you gain an understanding of the tournament, even if you will not be old enough to compete.' the Professor, who seemed to dislike him a little less now than she had the night before, said.

'I've finished reading it, Professor,' it was a small book and had only taken a few minutes. He read very quickly. 'I was hoping to move onto something that's more useful than learning more about how foolish this contest is.'

'You believe it is a bad idea?'

'Yes, Professor.'

'Why?'

'The prize isn't worth the risk to life and limb. Eternal glory is a misnomer, nobody knows the names of any past champions, with the exception of those who died brutally and spectacularly, and the prize money isn't much at all.'

'A _thousand galleons_ isn't much?!' Ronald Weasley exclaimed, from his seat two spaces behind Harry.

'When gambling with your life? No. There are those who would even say the likelihood of humiliation makes it a poor price. Especially for those in this year; the others will have moved well beyond our level of education.' The further through schooling one moved, in the Wizarding World, the faster subjects could be covered. People grew to understand the basic concepts, and were able to grasp new lessons faster.

'I think you're just scared. Or maybe you're trying to keep us from putting our names in so a _Potter_ gets the glory again,' a Ravenclaw said, accusatory.

'Think what you want. If, somehow, you get selected, your opinion will cease to exist. Because you'll be dead.' Harry didn't even know the boy's name, and he was acting like a petulant child. A child needed things explained plainly.

'Well, Mr Potter,' Professor McGonagall stopped a rebuttal from the Ravenclaw, 'if you feel you have all the information you need on the Tournament, we can use this opportunity to judge your abilities in Transfiguration. Please come to the front of the class. The rest of you are to continue, and review last year's work when you're done.'

Harry walked to the front, having been a few rows back, and waited for instruction. McGonagall waved her wand in a long motions, and a pile of objects jumped from her office and onto her large desk.

'First of all, please turn this matchstick into a needle,' a match separated itself from the pile, and Harry waved his wand. Out the back of his head, he saw the Ravenclaw who had been speaking smirking as he watched. The matchstick changed, and McGonagall nodded.

'As I had expected. Next, perform the _Avifors_ spell.'

' _Avifors_.' Harry waved his wand in the motion of an infinity symbol and a paperweight on the desk turned into a pigeon. Mcgonagall made a face, and undid the spell immediately. Harry guessed she did not like pigeons.

'And the rabbits into slippers,' McGonagall said. A pair of rabbits appeared on the desk, conjured, and Harry waved his wand at them. They transformed into a plain, comfortable pair of home wear shoes. McGonagall nodded and undid the spell before conjuring a bird. 'Transform this bird into a goblet, please.'

Harry pictured the goblets of the Great Hall, and the bird changed into a passable replica. The teacher nodded.

She had him cast half a dozen more spells, until her tone changed slightly. Harry would not catch it until later that day, as he was too busy noting that the Ravenclaw's smirk had turned to a scowl. Later, he would also remember the woman's look of mild disgust at his eye rolling into the back of his head.

'Please conjure a flock of birds for me, Mr Potter.' she asked.

Harry didn't think twice, ' _Avis_.' He'd used this spell in the past, it was one of those he'd been taught in his own world. They were useful as a distraction, when in an enclosed space, because the Death Eater would be trying to shield his eyes from beaks and little talons. They also made fancy spells more difficult to aim.

Nor did he think twice about dialling down the power of the spell. The gunshot-like sound was useless. It was a waste of energy, and alerted people. According to the books Harry had read, you could do more than that. Change the type of bird, or even the point in its life-cycle, though Harry didn't know why you'd want to do the second.

Fortunately, that required a good deal more thought, and only a flock of chirping bluebirds appeared quietly from his wand. Mcgonagall seemed to notice the alteration, and an eyebrow raised slightly.

'Very good. Next, please transfigure this,' she pointed to a maroon cushion on her desk, 'into a badger.'

Harry waved his wand, picturing a badger curled on her desk, and the cushion visibly shuddered before morphing into the animal. Where it should have been dark grey, Harry noticed, it was closer to brown. Not too important a detail, if ever he needed the transfiguration, but an imperfection that he hadn't anticipated.

The badger was angry at suddenly coming into existence, and growled at Harry with its teeth bared. Lost in his annoyance at the error of his badger, Harry cast another spell on the creature. It wiggled strangely, looking baffled and uncomfortable, and transformed into a fluffy grey poodle. The small dog looked around curiously, and then sat on the desk with as confused an expression as it was capable of having.

Harry waved his wand again, and it turned into an ashen cat, then a teddy bear. Honestly, when he had the basic concept down, Harry seemed good at this. It was all about visualisation, and Harry could imagine animals changing into each other as easily as into or from objects. His colours were slightly off, but that didn't diminish how useful creations could be on the battlefield.

It was the more complicated transfiguration he struggled with. Learning to animate inherently magical items, for one, or making companions on the battlefield as James Potter had done with his golem. And he had not yet figured out how to mentally command creatures. It was even hit and miss when saying them aloud.

'Very good, Mr Potter. Would you animate the bear, please?'

Harry did pause at that. Animation was halfway between Transfiguration and Charms, it wasn't a low-level branch of magic to learn, he knew, even if non-magical objects were much easier than their counterparts. But it wasn't hesitation as to whether to proceed, but a reassessment of the curriculum of Hogwarts. If Fourth Years were learning animation, then he must have underestimated their abilities.

He did wonder why there was no mention of it in the school books Dumbledore had bought him. Harry had read about it in one of the advanced Transfiguration books that had been included in the mountain of texts.

Perhaps they were hiding their abilities from the other schools.

Whether or not that was the case, Harry must have slipped up somewhere to have not noticed the advanced level of those he shared a class with. His thoughts darkened, slightly, with frustration at this oversight.

He cast the spell, and the teddy bear shivered. After a few seconds- which was a few seconds too long to use on the battlefield, Harry thought grimly- it rose to its feet, waddled over to the edge of the desk, and took a bow. Then, the cuddly toy began its acrobatics routine, as Harry guided it.

'Very impressive, Mr Potter,' McGonagall was giving an actual smile, even if it was a small one, and watched the progress of the acrobatic bear as it tucked and tumbled in mid air. 'You may return to your seat. But please remain behind at the end of class.'

A Ravenclaw girl whimpered when Harry glanced at her roused expression. For some reason she had directed it at him, rather than the book they were reading, and immediately regretted doing so. She didn't like looking at his face.

Harry wondered why Hermione Granger was looking at him so strangely. As though he was a mouse and she a cat.

-()-

McGonagall had given Harry more books to read, telling him that she had not believed Dumbledore when he hypothesized that Harry would progress through them so quickly. These new texts covered the rest of the school's transfiguration, taking different routes than the books Harry already had, and proceeded into more obscure uses that were not covered in Hogwarts. For example, there was a passage on the use of transfigurations as distractions, and the proper technique to either quieten them or increase their volume tenfold so that the effect would be tied to the animal itself rather than needing to cast another spell.

Harry had taken them with a thank you, and wondered after the contemplative expression on the woman's face.

Harry was still wondering when he arrived at the Gamekeeper's hut, and saw the monstrosities that awaited the class.

'The bloody Hell are they?' Ronald Weasley asked, his face a picture of disgust. It was a sentiment that the rest of the class seemed to agree with, since they were all staying well back from the crates that housed the strange things.

They looked like someone had pried the shell off a lobster, damaging it quite severely in the process, only to decide it was not deadly enough and that they needed to rectify that flaw in nature. One of their ends regularly fired sparks, propelling them into one another, and then the other end came into play. Half of them, presumably based on gender, had what appeared to be _suckers_ , while the others had what looked to be stingers. Or pincers.

And, dear God, they stank. Rotten fish was all Harry could smell, and he tried not to breathe as a result. When he tried breathing through his mouth, the disgusting aroma was all he could _taste_ and he did not know which was worse.

Harry didn't follow when Amaryllis and Hermione slowly walked forwards, in an attempt to show support for Hagrid the kind-hearted Half-Giant.

'Mornin'!' Hagrid exclaimed, to the class, as he kept a very large, black boarhound from bounding forwards to ravage the crates' contents. 'Be'er wait for the Slytherins, they won' want ter miss this. Blast-Ended Skrewts!'

It was a strange name, and Harry hadn't ever heard of _Skrewts_ , but it seemed to fit.

'Right…' Ron said, sarcastically, as the rest of the Gryffindors stayed back. Lavender Brown, a blonde girl who came across as ditzy, made a distressed sound as one of the Skrewts gave a particularly large explosion and attacked another. Hagrid didn't make any move to stop it, as the hound he was holding renewed its efforts to get at the creatures.

Harry wondered if that was why there were a few hundred. They seemed aggressive, and he wondered how many would still be alive by the year's end. Then, he wondered if they were a new breed. He'd read the class books for Care of Magical Creatures, and there had been no mention of them at any point. Had they been bred especially for the classes to examine?

Harry grimaced, wondering whether the Champions of each school would be fighting them at some point in the challenges. That was, as far as Harry knew, the only reason the Ministry wouldn't mind the creation of these… _Blast-Ended Skrewts_.

'Only jus' hatched,' Hagrid proudly told them, 'so you'll be able to raise 'em yourselves! Though' we'd make a bit of a project of it!'

'And why would we want to raise them?' a snide, cold voice asked. Harry could hear the sneer in the words.

Harry looked behind him, with his magical eye, while keeping one eye on the crate of unfriendly creatures. A gaggle of Slytherins had arrived, and the blonde boy at the front of the group had spoken. Two overweight boys grinned stupidly at the words.

'I mean, what's the _point_ of them?' Malfoy clarified, at Hagrid's stunned expression.

The half-giant looked reluctant to answer. Whether this was because he couldn't give details of the tournament away or there just wasn't a good reason, Harry didn't know, 'Tha'll have t' wait for next lesson, Malfoy. Yer Just feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things- I've never had 'em before, not sure what they'll go fer- I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' bits o' grass snake, just try 'em out with a bit of each.'

Over the course of the lesson, something became painfully clear to the class. Of all the options offered to the deformed lobster-things, they seemed most partial to human. Dean Thomas got burned, one of the dull boys who followed Malfoy's lead cut himself on the side of the crate and just barely withdrew his hand before one of the creatures shot at his bloody limb, and Lavender Brown frequently screamed bloody murder. For some reason, they seemed to want to eat her most of all.

Hagrid revealed that the males had stingers, and the female suckers, receiving a snide comment from Malfoy in response, and Harry wondered why Hagrid didn't give a detention for the disrespect that was shown. Not very authoritative, for a teacher.

'Just because they're not very pretty, doesn't mean they're not useful,' Hermione snapped at the sarcastic boy, 'Dragon's blood is amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?'

Harry was missing something, based on the grin Amaryllis gave Hagrid at that sentence. But it didn't seem especially important, as he dropped a handful of liver into a crate. He wondered how dangerous these things would be once they started to grow, and whether their swarm might be the cause of the champions' deaths this time around.

That would not be a nice way to go.

After class, the entire group made their way up in a loose formation. None of them particularly wanted to be around the Skrewts any longer than necessary, but the Gryffindors were at the back of the pack.

'You're ahead of me!' Hermione, half-jogging to keep up with Harry's faster, longer stride, said suddenly.

Harry looked at her, as the bushy-haired girl scowled and adjusted the strap over her shoulder.

'I have longer legs than you,' Harry said, slightly concerned that she was so upset.

'No! You're ahead of me in class! How are you ahead of me in class?! Nobody's ahead of me in class! I'm the head of the class! I've always been at the head of the class! And now, suddenly, you're-'

'At the head of the class?' Harry finished for her, his worried feeling growing with each passing moment. Her expression had gone from displeased to manic in the space of those half-dozen sentences.

'Exactly!' Hermione's bag swung down onto her arm, as she reached out and grabbed a handful of Harry's robes in each hand. 'How do you know more than me?! What am I doing wrong?!' she demanded. Harry noticed, now, that her eyes were slightly… damp. Was she about to cry?

How strange.

'Uh…' that single syllable lasted for a good ten seconds, as Harry struggled to decide how he should deal with this situation. Maybe he could distract her and run away? 'I… don't think I am,' Harry decided to go a different route. To care this much, she must have an ego, 'you're clearly brilliant, but you seem to limit yourself too much based on what teachers tell you to learn.' Harry suspected that was true, though he didn't know for sure.. 'Maybe if you limited yourself only on your own abilities you'd be able to improve at an even faster rate. I'm sure you could find some help from teachers, if you decided on that endeavor. Or from older students, if the professors are too busy.'

Harry didn't often speak so much, but this girl was intense… worryingly so, and this would hopefully help dissuade her from interrogating Harry to learn all of his secrets. He half believed she might cut her own eye out to get onto even footing with Harry.

'You mean self-study?! I can do that! Is that how I improve? Will I catch up to you if I work through the advanced tests in the Library?!' she asked, and Harry found himself waiting for her to shake him by the robes, pleading desperately for his secret. Harry decided that telling her the truth, that to actually get to his level one needed blood on their hands, would put students at risk- and that she almost certainly meant his display in class, not of his fighting ability- and just, sort of, nodded.

Hermione moved towards the castle with a determined stride, leaving Harry to stand with a concerned expression as he watched her go.

'She's already read most of them,' Amaryllis' voice commented, from next to Harry, 'she just doesn't dare practise the magic until a teacher tells her it's okay. Obviously, that's the reason you're ahead of her practically…' Amaryllis trailed off briefly, 'or, part of the reason. Other stuff probably adds to it. I mean, like the stuff you told us about. Well, didn't _tell_ us about- although you could if you wanted to, I'm happy to listen if you need an ear… or, like, a shoulder- but the stuff you mentioned. Y'know, to Dad and Remus when they first met you...'

Harry didn't much like this conversation's direction, so he reached for a subject to change the conversation to. 'So, Quidditch being cancelled for the year… that sucks. Do you know if you can go to the scouts, rather than them coming to you?'

That, clearly, was the right choice of subject. At least, if one wanted to get her mind away from the previous topic- if one wanted peace and quiet, on the other hand, it was the farthest thing from ideal.

'Right?! It's such BULL, why the Hell can't there be Quidditch and the tournament?! Any of us who aren't 17 just lose out, we can't compete in the tournament so we get punished by having Quidditch taken away?! It's so stupid! Bloody old man with his dumb clothes… And we would've gotten the chance to thrash the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons lot, too… do you have any idea how many offers I would've gotten if I'd caught the snitch against them? Es _pecially_ if I'd used one of the new moves I was working on!

'I could've even played for teams abroad…' Amaryllis said, sadly, as they crossed the threshold, 'And to top it all off, you don't get to play now! Gryffindor could really use you, since we've lost Wood! And Slytherin would've tried to injure you so that you wouldn't be able to play, and you'd've punched Malfoy in the face, and he would've cried in front of the whole school…' the Girl-Who-Lived sighed dreamily as they entered the Great Hall for lunch.

'Surprise, surprise, 'Mione's nowhere to be seen. She's probably buried under a stack of books by now. I'm gonna have to bring her food again, aren't I?' she asked, rhetorically.

Harry heard snickering from the end of the Hufflepuff table, as the two of them walked towards the mostly-vacant Gryffindor table. Harry's head turned towards them, and his eyes narrowed at the group of boys laughing amongst themselves. One of them, the one who was guffawing the least, had been grinning over towards the pair of Potters with his tongue hanging strangely from his mouth.

Had been, because as the scarred face, and magical eye, of Harry fell upon him the boy paled, withdrew his tongue, and looked down at his plate as though it had written on it the lost play of William Shakespeare.

Harry asked, 'What were they laughing at?' as Amaryllis glanced over, following his eye line to the bunch of Hufflepuffs.

Amaryllis huffed to herself, 'Probably saying that it's rare to see me with a guy. A stupid old joke.' One that, by the sounds of it, wasn't funny. Perhaps even hurtful.

Things worked differently here, to what Harry knew. Once, back before Harry was truly known to him, Riddle had given a monologue on how he had killed James and Lily Potter without ceremony. _Like vermin_ , were the words that had been used. He had seemed surprised, searching for Harry, to find that they inspired so little reaction from the boy; at that time Harry was irrefutably a child. They had stoked the flames, of course- Harry's anger was a constant, especially when facing those who had killed his friends- but to break his composure, and with it his cover, would have done nought but make the situation worse. If he had been thinking of his parents in that moment- rather than getting back to his group- then charging out to do battle with Riddle and the followers with him would only have disrespected their memory. James and Lily Potter had died to protect him, and Harry was supposed to throw that away because his feelings were hurt? Because their twisted murderer made a harsh comment?

Here, though, it was a different matter. It seemed that, in an environment without violence and the threat of death, insults were important. Hurting someone's feelings was enough to merit punishment, and the statements people made- rumours that were spread- could do their victim actual harm. Harry wondered if- when they found Alastor- having a foul-mouthed ex-Auror instructing them would desensitise Harry's new peers to such things.

He knew the grizzled stories, the insults and reminders alongside the regular putting downs he received, had done wonders to harden the child Harry could have been.

For now, though, the implication of their words- there had seemed to be a running joke that Amaryllis was homosexual between she and Hermione, presumably this was a related matter but without the goodwill that made theirs banter- seemed to upset Amaryllis. How much, Harry didn't know; however much it might be, words were unlikely to merit physical harm. Not until those words became a threat, physical or implied. Even so, he felt a certain protective instinct towards she and the rest of the Potters.

That instinct rose up as the girl's shoulders lifted slightly- almost unnoticeable, but a slight hunching that showed the words hurt more than she would be willing to let on. It was her own desire to protect herself- the lizard brain wasn't always able to discern between fear born of threat and that born of embarrassment.

Harry drew his wand, and cast a jinx at the scalp belonging to the presumed instigator.

Amaryllis looked up at the light leaping from Harry's wand- a reddish brown, described as maroon in the spellbook- and confusion passed over her face. Then fear, as it found its mark and struck the boy's blonde head. Worry, as it crossed her mind that Harry might have cursed him, that the boy would be maimed or broken.

And then humour, as the spell took effect and the boy's hair fell onto the table he so intently stared at.

The boy shrieked something fierce, as he grabbed a clump on the back of his head- one that had stayed atop his head thanks to gravity- and it came out in his hand. That wasn't intelligent, as it drew the attention of the entire Hall to his suddenly bald head.

When Harry had read the title of the spell, he had been more than slightly confused. Calling it a Balding Spell would have been far more accurate than a _Scalping_ Spell. He knew a Scalping Spell, and it did not belong in "The Big Book of Jinxes." Not that Harry understood why Dumbledore had given him that book in the first place.

'Open season on SMITH!' a voice from behind Harry exclaimed, and he turned in time to see the identical Weasleys with grins on their faces and wands in their hands.

Harry placed his wand back on his wrist, and followed as Amaryllis seized his elbow and tugged him over towards the Gryffindor table.

'You don't want to get caught in the crossfire,' she told him, 'the Weasley twins _really_ don't care about Bystanders,' Amaryllis said, with a smirk. 'Not that you're a Bystander.'

She shifted in her seat for a moment, Harry nodded absently while glancing up at the Staff Table in an effort to see if he had been seen jinxing Smith, and then patted Harry on the shoulder.

'Thanks for that. You didn't need to, but… thanks. You're good people, Harry.' She smiled at him, as Harry moved his eyes back to her, and he wondered why it looked like she was in pain.

Not a lot of pain, but enough to cause discomfort. He wondered, in the privacy of his own mind, whether the Weasleys had hit her with a spell. He also wondered, again silently, if that spell might have caused something along the lines of Hemorrhoids, or boils on the rear. The pain seemed to have begun when she sat on the wooden bench.

He looked over at the twins, as they chased Smith out of the Hall, and tried to see what spells they were favouring.


End file.
